Falling Slowly
by cuddlyhipster
Summary: Peter's never been a fan of showing his sensitive side...until he meets someone who brings that out in him. He's falling in love, and for the first time in his life he can't push the feelings away. And it scares him. A lot. Slow burn Peter/Drax, side Grocket. Rating for later chapters.
1. Prologue

**So I just saw **_**Guardians**_** for the third time over Labor Day weekend (yes, I know, I'm obsessed), and this idea just kind of popped into my head. I have no idea why I ship this ship so freaking hard, but I do. I just can't see him with Gamora, for some reason.**

**Usual warnings apply. Slash, sex (which won't come until much later, fyi) and language. Piles of angst, some minor Quill whump (I just can't help myself!) and there will definitely be some hints of Grocket later so if shipping a tree and raccoon seems squicky, might wanna stay far away.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own GOTG, but if I did, I would cuddle them. A lot.**

When you grow up in an insecure environment—for me, it was a Ravager ship where I was constantly threatened with death, beatings, and starvation if I didn't get things right—you learn over time that no one is going to save you when stuff gets hairy. Yondu would protect me to an extent, mainly by keeping his crew from eating me (and, hey, wasn't I _really_ glad he didn't tell me exactly what that was slang for when I was a kid?) and by making sure I got food when I was supposed to have it. But I was mostly on my own. I earned my own money, gave a cut to the Ravagers, and had to manage the rest. If I was out, I was out. If I got myself stranded somewhere, it was my job to find a way home. If I was arrested and one of them bailed me out, I had to pay them back—and that was _if_ they picked me up; most times I'd spend the night in jail because no one felt like coming to get me. If I got into a shootout and ended up wounded, someone _might_ fix up the wound for me, but if they did you can be damn sure I'd be treated to a lecture about what an idiot I was for getting myself shot in the first place.

All in all, I didn't grow up in the most nurturing environment. So it's no surprise that for the most part, I was a complete mess.

It sounds like a list of textbook excuses, really. Showing emotion was bad because, on a Ravager ship, showing any emotion besides "bored," "angry," or "laughing falling-over drunk" can get you labeled weak, and we all know what happens to the weak on a Ravager ship. So if I was upset, I'd damn well better hide it. I didn't like to stay in one place for too long, even if it was a rare planet where I had no criminal record, because getting attached to a place meant I would inevitably feel hurt when I had to leave it. And of course, the same rule went for people. Don't make friends, you'll inevitably expose your weaknesses to them and they can use it against you. Whatever you do, do _not_ fall in love, ever. If there's one fast way to get yourself stabbed in the back, it's to make yourself vulnerable to someone else.

So that was my MO. Hide everything—and I do mean everything—behind a veneer of charm. Flirt with anyone and everyone. Shoot my way out of situations, then laugh it off as if killing people didn't bother me one damn bit. Hey, they're just bodies, they have nothing to do with me. No, I don't care that they had families. (_I totally care that they had families, that badass soldier chick I just put flat on her back, that could be somebody's mom, I may have just killed somebody's mom._)

The other rule, the big one, was never get attached to anyone, no exceptions. No you can't stay an extra night or two, I have to leave in the morning to get this bounty back to Yondu. Yeah, I know. We had fun. Now go have fun with someone else. (_I want you to stay, you're beautiful, but if you stay you are a liability, please don't look at me like that._) No, you can't be my partner, I'm an outlaw, I don't need a partner, thanks for the help anyway, here, have a cut of the reward and get lost. (_I wish you could come back with me, you and I could make such an amazing team, it's killing me to send you away._)

I made it a general rule not to let emotions get involved in sex. And I made it a general rule that I _always_ had to be in charge. I controlled the encounter start to finish. I always was the one to pick up the girl. If she approached me, she was automatically out. I'd question her, before getting her back to the ship; if she was into S&M, automatic out. I'd get kinky if she wanted, but she was not allowed to tie me up, hit me, or hurt me. I'd tie _her_ up if she asked nicely, but I didn't do hardcore punishment, just wasn't my thing. I always decided when she left. If she was really nice, _maybe_ we could have an encore round or two, but she was never allowed to stay more than two nights. If I had sex with a girl once, and then ran into her on another planet, I couldn't bring her back for a repeat performance. That was too dangerous. That made it seem like I might get attached to her. I couldn't have that.

The final, most important sex rule? _No guys._ No sleeping with men. I wasn't ashamed of being attracted to them (you want an estimate of how many of the Ravagers had a strict no-woman policy when it came to sex? a freaking lot, that's how many), but when I was with a woman there was no chance of being the vulnerable one, and with men it was a toss-up; you could be the top or the bottom, and there was no way of casually bringing that up in conversation before you got back to the bedroom. So no, I didn't do guys. (_No matter how badly I wanted to._)

As long as I kept to these rules I'd be okay. Not happy, maybe, but _okay_.

(_Your mother would cry if she saw you like this._) I don't care. She shouldn't have left me, then.

It just figured that after I broke one of my self-imposed rules, all the others came crashing down after it like dominoes.

**This is just a prologue of sorts. Real story will come later. :)**


	2. Chapter 1

I didn't intend to become a team leader. It just sort of happened. I'd kind of assumed we'd either all be dead, or at least half of us would be dead and the other half would just sort of go back to their separate lives. Instead we all lived, and I was suddenly in charge. "We'll follow your lead…Star-Lord," Gamora had said, and I was so surprised that she actually seemed to _trust_ me that I flew the ship in no apparent direction for no apparent reason, just to look like I was doing something.

But that didn't stop the others from arguing about what we should do next. Drax was all for hunting down Thanos. Rocket didn't particularly care _what_ we did as long as it got us a nice fat payoff. Gamora liked the idea of serving justice to criminals. Basically she was all for "something good," Rocket was all for "something bad," and Drax was all for "a bit of both." And lucky me, it was my job to be the referee/housemother who got to decide what our next scheduled activity would be.

In the end, it was Gamora who came up with the idea of going to Knowhere and finding some wanted criminals to capture and turn in. "Now you're thinking," Rocket said approvingly. "I got software on my pad that can help us do that, you know. Tells us the reward and everything."

"Criminal-capturing it is," I replied, and set course to Knowhere.

Initially Drax complained about this, because he wanted to kill Thanos. He wanted a _purpose_, dammit. "Quit your whining. Ronan's dead, you got your vengeance, didn't you?" Rocket snapped. He was too busy keeping an eye on newly-awakened baby Groot to help me fly, leaving me to pilot by myself. Not that I minded. That was better than fighting him for the controls.

"_I_ didn't kill him," Drax reminded him irritably. This started an argument about how Drax was a "big whiny baby" who should have just been happy that Ronan was dead, never mind who killed him, and Drax angrily responded that Rocket had been just as eager to kill Ronan when he'd thought that Ronan had killed Groot.

"Look, if you got problems, take it up with the great and mighty Star-Dork over there, he's the one who killed the big blue bastard with the stupid stone when he could've just handed the damn thing over and let you have at it," Rocket pointed out.

Drax turned to me, and I immediately shifted into crisis-control mode. "Hey, you know what, Rocket's right, I should've let you kill him…tell you what, let me make it up to you, okay? If we run into anybody who works for Thanos and isn't wanted alive, you get first crack at them. Okay? How's that?"

Drax settled back into his seat, apparently satisfied. "That sounds reasonable. Thank you, Quill. I accept your offer."

"You're welcome." Crisis averted. I set the _Milano_ to autopilot. "Let's go belowdecks. I don't know about you guys, but I'm hungry, and I bet they've stocked the kitchen for us."

We started to head down the stairs, Rocket complaining the whole time about how pathetic Xandarian food was. Gamora was in the lead, her back to me, but I still knew she was probably rolling her eyes at Rocket. Honestly, Rocket was the only person I'd ever met who had the same talent for never, _ever_ shutting the _hell_ up as I did.

I herded them all down the steps, and for a second I was so amazed that they actually were doing what I suggested that I forgot to look where I was going. Big mistake. When I was three-fourths of the way down the stairs I skipped a step and twisted my ankle, falling towards the ground at an awkward angle. Oh, crap. This was so familiar, me falling on my face like this, that I could already hear Yondu's voice in my head, telling me how stupid I looked, telling me how "soft" I was and how could I possibly expect these people to respect me if I couldn't even navigate through my own ship without half-killing myself?

I braced myself for the pain, preparing to laugh it off like I'd meant to fall on my face. The blow never came. Instead a pair of strong arms caught me well before I hit the ground. Strong—but _gentle_, one arm supporting my back and the other hooked under my knees. Like I was this person's damn _wife_ or something. I'd squeezed my eyes shut when I felt myself start to fall, but now I opened them, only to find Drax's big, shocking-blue eyes _that close_ to mine.

And oh, _fuck_, what was that feeling in my stomach? My heart was pounding and there was a jolt of fear that had come with almost falling down the steps, but underneath all of that there was something different that I couldn't really name…oh, _no_. No, no, no. Those were not butterflies, and I did _not_ feel like my eyes were magnetized to his, I could look away when I wanted, I just…didn't want to. Because I'd never really looked him in the eyes before, I'd always averted my gaze hoping it would deter him from trying to hurt me (because, okay, I was _a little_ terrified of him when we first met), and now it was like I was seeing him for the first time.

And it scared the living _fuck_ out of me, because holy shit, the way he was looking at me…no one had ever held my gaze this long before. It was like a staring contest stalemate. And as scary as it was…I don't think I really wanted it to end.

It seemed to take an age for me to find my voice. "Thank you," I finally managed to say. "Man. You weren't joking about those quick reflexes, were you?" Kidding around to cover the awkward moment usually worked. This time, it didn't. The butterflies didn't go away.

"Of course not." Drax finally broke our eye contact and tried to lower me to the ground, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, my knees buckled. The surge of adrenaline that had flooded me when I slipped suddenly receded, leaving me feeling too shaky to stand. "Are you feeling well?" he asked. He was probably as concerned as I was about the fact that my limbs had apparently turned into overcooked pasta.

I nodded. "Just a little shaky. I'm fine. That was…" I cast around for the right word. "That was kind of scary." And I wasn't just talking about the fall.

His arms were around me again, carefully keeping me upright. I was surprised at how gentle he was; looking at Drax you'd expect him to be almost as rough with his friends as he was with his enemies, but here he was treating me like I was made of porcelain. "I will support you until you can stand on your own," he announced.

I shook my head and quickly stepped away, staggering and nearly falling—but I did manage to stay standing. "No, no, see? I'm good. Come on, let's catch up to the others before they get to the kitchen and steal the best food."

I brushed past him before he could protest. I was still shaking, just a little, but I couldn't tell if it was from the fall itself or whatever the _hell_ had happened to me when Drax and I had made full eye contact, and seriously, what the _fuck_ was that? No one made me feel like that before. No one. Sexual attraction was one thing, but the thing is, what had just happened there wasn't plain attraction. That was usually instantaneous, so if it was just sexual I'd have thought _huh, I wanna tap that_ the second I'd first laid eyes on him, but that hadn't happened here. It hadn't been until he'd caught me (_in those big strong arms, oh my God Peter get a grip on yourself!_) that I'd felt my heartbeat pick up and my stomach fill with butterflies and _oh God those eyes_, was he trying to kill me, staring at me like that?

Okay, no. I _really_ needed to pull myself together. It's just a crush, I told myself, just a crush, you've had this happen before, you know it'll pass. Just don't sleep with him, whatever you do—not that you'll have to worry about that; you know he's been married to a woman before and you have that whole no-guys policy anyway—so just treat him like you do anyone else and it'll go away.

So when we sat down in the newly-installed and freshly-stocked kitchenette (and, hey, it was _really_ amazing of Nova Corps to find as many Terran products as they could, I made a mental note to send them a thank-you card or something) and ate with the rest of the team, I pretended not to notice that he sat right beside me. I pretended not to notice that he kept looking over at me. And I pretended, with every bit of mental and emotional strength I had, that I didn't find it flattering as hell that he kept looking at me.

~o~

We settled into a decently easy routine after that. We went to Knowhere and found a serial killer, who was worth 25,000 units to the Nova Corps if we captured him, and 50,000 if we killed him. "Service to society," they called it. "Loads of fun," Rocket and Drax called it. I stayed back on the ship to watch baby Groot—I couldn't help but think of him that way now, _Baby Groot_, like he was really a child—but I heard all about it when the three assassin-slash-lunatics returned.

"That bartender's gonna have a hell of a time getting _that_ loser's blood off his furniture," Rocket told me with a feral grin, popping the top off of a bottle of Xandarian vodka that I had no doubt he'd stolen. "I tell you what, Quill, you made the right call back at the Kyln. This guy"—he whacked Drax, who'd dragged in the bloodstained sack that must have held what was left of the body, on his shoulder—"beat up six of Mr. Murderer's goons in, like, half a minute. Bastards didn't even know what hit him. Then the fucker pulled a blaster on Gamora when she stuck a knife in him, and he told her to go do something to herself, so Drax ripped the guy a new one. And I _don't_ mean that in the metaphorical sense."

"I'd never had someone defend my honor before," Gamora informed me. She was sitting perched on the kitchen countertop, legs gracefully folded. She looked gorgeous even when covered in someone else's sticky black blood. Don't ask me how she did that. "It was quite an interesting experience." She looked over to Drax. "Thank you. I am sure he regretted his words, once you took it upon yourself to removing his lungs."

I cringed, but at the same time I had to laugh at the _exceedingly_ pleased look on Drax's face. He looked like a small child who'd just received excessive praise for a well-done piece of homework. "Great job, guys." I looked to Rocket. "Is there enough of him left for Nova Corps to identify him?"

"Oh, yeah. I called Nova Prime from my tablet. She's freaking out. Like, in a good way. I warned her it ain't pretty, what we did to him, but she just said 'It wasn't pretty what he did to us, either,' and showed me some snapshots of what the guy used to do to his victims. Great big chainsaw-looking thing sticking right out of their—"

"OKAY," I cut him off. "Okay, I think I got the idea, thanks."

Rocket looked disappointed. "But I haven't even got to the part where he put his hand up their—"

"And I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to tell me later," I interrupted. "But right now I think someone wants to see you."

Immediately, Rocket perked up. "Groot? He do okay without me?"

"Sure did. He's chilling out under the sunlamp right now, in your bunk. You should go see him."

Rocket tossed his gun to the floor and all but sprinted down the hall. Gamora shot me a quick little smile. "You would make a good father," she told me.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, yeah. Let's tell Rocket I'm adopting him. He's my rebellious teenage son," I said sarcastically, hoping it would make Gamora laugh.

It did. She laughed, and then she slid off the countertop and came over to me. "I am glad I didn't have to take that man and his minions on alone. He tried to stab me, see?" She showed me a bloody slash in her arm. "Do you have medical supplies nearby? I believe I could use a bandage."

I jumped at the sight of the cut. "Christ, Gamora! You should've mentioned that first!"

Drax's eyes went wide when he saw her injury. "Peter is correct. Come, we need to cover that before it becomes infected."

Gamora rolled her eyes. "You two overreact like children," she scolded us. "Thanos made me immune to nearly all illnesses…I was merely hoping to stop the bleeding."

"Well, we can totally do that. Come on." I guided her down the hall to the med bay. "Okay. Here we go. Gauze bandages. This'll do the trick…want me to wrap that up for you, or would you rather do it yourself?" It hadn't taken me long to learn that Gamora may have liked having friends, but she wasn't so hot on the idea of being babied. She liked for us to know she was self-sufficient. The bottom line: ask before you help her, or get a kick to the face.

"I can do it. Thank you." Gamora took the gauze roll from me and began to bandage her cut.

Drax, meanwhile, was hovering behind me. "The bandage can do tricks? Or do you mean that it has special properties?"

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. "No, Drax…it's just an expression. I meant it'll do what she needs it to do. Stop the bleeding."

"Oh." We watched as Gamora calmly wrapped her own wound, then tossed me the leftover gauze like this was as normal as talking on the telephone. "Does it hurt?" Drax asked her.

She shook her head. "There's a bit of a sting, but it'll pass. Shall we check on Rocket and Groot?"

One of the reasons I'd tread so carefully around Gamora (aside from the occasional flirting, which I knew she actually liked because it gave her an excuse to kick my ass) was because I knew that, much as my life had sucked, hers had been _worse_. Like, way worse. Forget feeling safe, there were days she'd just been happy to _survive_. So with all that in mind, it wasn't too much of an issue for me to do the best I possibly could to make sure she had everything she wanted as long as she was on the _Milano_ and, as Nova Prime had put it, "under my care." (But don't tell her that. Like I said, she hated being babied…but that was no reason for me not to subtly spoil her. Just a little.)

But at the same time…she was so _tough_. And, yeah, I knew it was because she'd been genetically modified to be that way. But her pain tolerance was through the roof, and she could go at it for hours in a battle. And to top it all off, she was adaptable. I'd read somewhere, a long time ago, that abused children often have a hard time adjusting when they're rescued, because they're so used to being mistreated that they don't know how to deal when someone actually cares for them. But Gamora wasn't like that at all. She openly acknowledged us as her friends and unlike Rocket, who still gave me the _you must be trying to poison me_ look every time I offered him food, she seemed to trust us.

I guess when it came down to it, that was what really struck me about her, what really made me wish, in the worst way possible, that I could be like her. She was tough as all fucking get out, in both a physical and emotional sense—but she made no bones about telling us exactly how she felt or what she wanted. She openly offered information about herself that I'd have put under lock and key. Like how easily she had told me on Knowhere that Thanos had tortured her and turned her into a weapon. And there I was, unable to tell her the simple fact that my mom had died from a disease, covering up the raw sensitivity of the moment by making a move on her.

God, how stupid I must've seemed to her. Remind me again how I became the leader of this team?

We did go to check on Rocket and Groot, and Gamora was the first to laugh (very quietly, though) at what we saw: Rocket, still stained with the blood of his enemies, had wrapped himself around Groot's pot and was happily sleeping under the sunlamp, while Groot cuddled Rocket's tail like a baby blanket. It was cute, but at the same time just _wrong_ because Rocket? Cuddling? There was something wrong with that picture. But we let them be, because there was no point in waking them up; we wouldn't be back to Xandar to deliver the remains of the killer we'd caught for another few hours at least. I beckoned to Drax and Gamora and we tiptoed out of the room and down the hall, leaving our friends to get some rest.

And if it made my heart jump just a little when Drax's hand brushed against mine…well, no one ever needed to know.

**I know all this inner-monologue stuff gets tedious. I'm sorry. Next part will be a little more exciting, I promise :)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thanks to the slow start to my first week of school, I now have a couple of chapters "banked" that I'll be able to post later tonight. After that, updates will get a little slower. But I have the rest of it planned out, so rest assured it **_**will**_** be updated…might just take a little while. :)**

Before my mom got cancer, she would dance with me every Saturday night. It was just our _thing_. As soon as we got home from our weekly trip to visit my grandparents, we'd both run to our rooms, change into our pajamas, come back to the living room where she'd set up her old tape deck, and we'd blast that mixtape and dance around the room. Dancing on the furniture was not only acceptable, but encouraged. She'd pick me up and swing me around, when I was small enough, and when I got too big for that she'd still help me up onto the couch so we could be at eye-level. And we'd throw pillows and balled-up socks each other and by the end of the night everything in the laundry basket would become ammunition and it would just downgrade into pure chaos and, of course, six-year-old me had _loved_ it.

Those days were over, obviously. I'd never been able to pick up the tradition with any of the Ravagers (can you just imagine the look on Yondu's face if I asked him to dance with me?) but that didn't stop me from doing it by myself. Especially once I got the _Milano_ and was able to go off by myself. Then I could turn the music up as loud as I wanted and no one cared.

Except then I got a team. And when I got that team I gave up my privacy.

But I still tried. I'd wait until the others went out to celebrate a particularly successful mission, volunteer to stay behind to watch baby Groot (which was the easiest thing _ever_, just water him, put him under the sunlamp and let him sleep), and then I'd change into pajamas—well, okay, the closest thing I had to pajamas, which was typically my boxers or a pair of sweatpants and whatever t-shirt I'd forgotten to wash that week—and party hard. By myself. And for a month or so this worked out perfectly. And then one night, it didn't.

It started out well enough. I was alone, swaying to the beat, happily lost in the music. I've never been a great dancer—no one's going to be calling on me to replace Michael Jackson anytime soon—but I knew I was good enough to not embarrass myself, and besides, whether I had any measure of talent or not, I just plain _loved_ it. It made me feel good, in a way that not many other things did. It helped me relax more than getting wasted ever did. And it reminded me of my mom, and some days I just _needed_ that.

Anyway, "Come and Get Your Love" was playing, and that's one of my favorite songs on the tape, so I was getting pretty into it. Even when I have an audience I tend to dance like no one's watching, so when I'm alone…well, you can imagine. Shimmying, gyrating, pelvic-thrusting, hand-waving, foot-stomping, using nearby objects like hairbrushes and mixing spoons as microphones…I'm pretty sure if Rocket had been there, he'd have had enough blackmail material to last him a lifetime. But Rocket never saw me.

Drax did, though.

As the song faded out, I became aware that there was, in fact, someone else in the room. I whirled around, holding out the wooden spoon as a potential weapon, but it was only Drax, who stood there smiling at me like I'd just done something really special. I nearly choked on my own tongue. "How long have you been standing there?" I demanded.

Drax was still smiling away. God, I wished he'd stop, I felt like he was laughing at me. "I returned fifteen minutes ago. Rocket insisted we should bring you some alcohol." He held out an unmarked bottle.

Oh, good. Liquid courage. I grabbed the bottle and took a hit. Mm. This wasn't fancy Xandarian stuff, this was raw, probably-illegal 80-proof shit brewed in a back alley on Knowhere. That was _good stuff_. "Thanks. Man, that's some good shit. Rocket pick it out?"

"No, I did." The next song on the tape started to play. Oh, God. "Fooled Around and Fell in Love." A slow song. Oh, perfect. Drax cocked his head a little. "I like this song," he announced. "It is one of the more pleasant ones in your collection."

"Thanks." I awkwardly ran my hand through my hair, which was of course soaked with sweat. I'd been rocking out down here for almost an hour. And apparently Drax had seen the last fifteen minutes of it. I probably smelled awful. My shirt was plastered to my skin and it was a ridiculously old, thin, worn-out shirt to begin with. The pants I had on were too big and falling down my hips. Put it this way: I looked absolutely ridiculous and I knew it.

Drax didn't seem to mind, though. Tentatively he took a few steps into the room, towards me. I was already hot from dancing, but I swear my face was getting steadily warmer as he got closer. "You dance very well," he told me. "I am no expert, of course, but I did enjoy watching you."

"Thanks," I said again. Wow, what a brilliant conversationalist I was. "You, uh, wanna join in?" I was kidding. I didn't think he'd really…

But he _did_. Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth he was right in front of me (how did he move so _fast_?) and his hands were lightly resting on my waist, and because my shirt had ridden up and my pants were too big I could feel his hands against the sliver of skin revealed by my ill-fitting clothes, and _oh my God_ his hands were rough but his skin was so cool and felt so damn good against my over-heated body. "What are you doing?" I asked as he began to rock me side to side.

"Is this not the acceptable method of dance for a melody of this tempo?" He took my hands and placed them around his neck, then returned his hands to my waist. There was a good four inches of space between us, and that was good because I was pretty sure if we got any closer I was going to pass out.

"Well, yeah, but usually this is how Terrans dance if we're…um…courting," I tried to explain, but he didn't seem to be too focused on what I was saying. He was staring into space, at a point somewhere over my shoulder, clearly thinking hard about something. I didn't want to say anything, but I was dying to know what he was thinking about. "Um. Drax?"

"Oh. I apologize, I was thinking of something else." He looked back at me, smiling away again. "You said something?"

"Just…um, this is…never mind." I couldn't get the words out a second time. This was awkward enough as it was.

I couldn't _think_ like this. Not when he was this close to me, not when he was looking at me like _that_, when he was totally locked-in on me like I was the only person in the world who mattered. I thought that over time I could build up some kind of immunity to those light-blue eyes. But no, every time I looked at him, every time our eyes met, he _stunned_ me. I don't think he even knew he was doing it. But he'd look at me, and I couldn't look away, and my entire world would fall apart under my feet and I hated it, but I _needed_ it.

But before it could get any weirder (_any more intense_), we were saved by a tiny voice calling out from down the hall. "I am _Groot_?" You didn't have to be a world-class translator to understand he was saying _where are you guys?_

I quickly pulled away from Drax, half-relieved, half-disappointed. "Come on, let's go see what he wants before he tries to walk and knocks his pot off the table…Rocket will murder me if anything happens to him." I half-ran down the hall and into Rocket's bunk room, not stopping to look if Drax was following me…but I knew he was.

No matter where I ran, he was always there, right behind me.

~o~

This crush thing was getting out of hand.

Three months after we'd defeated Ronan, we'd gone on another six missions. By that time Groot, who hadn't been able to come on any of our missions yet, was too big for Rocket to carry him around in a pot anymore, with the inevitable result that every time Rocket so much as moved, he had a big, cute wooden duckling trailing him around the ship. And I'm not the most observant person in the galaxy (I'm sure Gamora would be happy to tell you that), but even I could tell that the adoring way Groot looked at Rocket—and the way Rocket looked at Groot when he thought no one was looking—indicated that something more than friendship was there. Whether they knew it or not was another matter, but it was totally _there_.

And that was all great, and it was cute as hell and everything, but it kind of made me realize that I was starting to gravitate toward Drax the same way Rocket and Groot gravitated towards each other.

As soon as he left the room I had to fight the urge to follow him. And whenever he came into the room I was extremely aware of his presence, keeping track of exactly where he was in relation to where I was, and sometimes I'd sort of unconsciously arrange things and realize I'd made it so that we were closer than we'd been. Like if we watched a movie on the viewscreen I'd rigged up to a VCR we'd found on some random little planet that happened to sell Terran "relics," I would try to sit next to him. If we were all eating a meal together I'd try to set my place at the table next to his. And I found excuses to pass by his bunk every night before I went to bed. Just, you know, in case something was wrong.

Okay, that was all fine. Just as long as he didn't notice, and apparently, he didn't. He'd come back from a mission, bloody and sweaty and totally exhilarated, and if he noticed that his scent—which no amount of inter-special blood could mask—made my head spin, he didn't mention it. Which, considering that Drax says things as fast as he observes them, effectively meant he didn't notice.

But I still kept a fair amount of distance. I didn't flirt or pull any of the moves I would've tried on any of the girls I'd dated in the past. I _did_, however, flirt with Gamora, if only to give her an excuse to try and beat me up now and then. It was a new game with us, one she seemed to greatly enjoy.

I'd walk into the kitchen and she'd be there, trying to work out the mechanics of how the coffee got from the coffeemaker into the coffeepot, and I'd say something like "So we should have coffee sometime, just you and me. I like my coffee the way I like my women—hot as hell and strong enough to knock me on my ass."

And she'd whirl around, already in battle mode, and say something like "Oh, if that's what you want, that's exactly what you'll get, _Star-Lord_." And we'd spar until she either took me out or someone broke it up. Sometimes I'd let her win. Other times she really beat me. Either way, she never aimed to kill, and I never actually tried to get in her pants. It was an arrangement that worked for both of us.

Once Drax approached me about this. "I would like to know if there is a romantic connection between you and Gamora," he said seriously, as if lives were dependent on my answer.

I just shrugged it off. "C'mon, Drax, we're just friends, you know that. You know me. I can't shut up. You'd hear about it if Gamora and I were a thing."

"You and Gamora are not _things_, Peter, you are people."

I laughed and shook my head. "No, I mean…you'd know if she and I were together. Romantically, I mean."

"Oh. I see." And he didn't ask me again.

Meanwhile I was actually making some progress with Rocket. He still mouthed off to me, still frequently referred to me as Star-Dork, idiot, or my personal favorite, _jackass_, but he never threatened to shoot me and he trusted me with Groot, which I considered a great development. Once I sat down next to him when he was putting together a bomb and asked him to explain what he was doing. Jackpot. I'd hit on one of the things he openly prided himself on, and I wasn't imagining the way he practically _glowed_ as he hit me with endless technobabble, his tiny hands flashing like lightning as he assembled his latest moon-destroying weapon.

Groot, of course, was an angel. Drax, Gamora and I could still carry him, even if Rocket couldn't, but I'm not kidding, _I_ was his favorite. If he couldn't have Rocket, he wanted me. Still couldn't understand a damn thing he said, but he was eager to help and he didn't mind being cuddled, and you'd think cuddling with a tree would've been beneath the dignity of a supposed outlaw, but I found it comforting and besides, it was better to cuddle a child-tree than be caught cuddling with…oh, Drax, for example.

So the upshot of it all was that I was bonding with my team…and trying to simultaneously avoid and stay as close as possible to one of them in particular. No easy feat, that. Being without him made me feel like I'd lost a limb, but being in the same room as him made me feel on-edge. Not fun.

We saved a couple of humanoid boys from a pirate crew that reminded me a little too much of the Ravagers for my comfort level, and that was the seventh thing we did as a team (not counting stopping Ronan). I explained to my team about how on Terra, seven was considered a lucky number. So naturally they decided this was a thing we should celebrate. Rocket and Gamora went out to get booze, while I stayed behind with Groot, who had taken a sudden interest in my walkman.

I was sitting on the floor with him—dude was getting _tall_, he was past Rocket's height now—and Drax was sitting on the worn-out couch, watching me show Groot how to work the various switches and buttons. "It is interesting that you trust him with that device, but no one else," Drax commented.

"I know he's not going to break it. Look how gentle he is." As I said this, Groot was lightly poking the play button as if the walkman were a bomb that might go off.

"And you don't trust the rest of us to not break your audio player?" Drax pressed.

I shrugged. "Not that I don't trust you…look, I wouldn't let _anyone_ take this thing and go off with it, okay? It's nothing personal, I just…it's a thing, okay? It's my thing and I'm afraid something's going to happen to it." Whoa. I hadn't meant to sound so defensive.

My tone made Groot look up, nervous. "I am Groot?" He pushed the walkman back towards me.

"No, no, it's fine. You can touch it" I reached over and showed him how to eject the tape. "Try that." When he managed it he looked up at me, pleased with himself. It was so damn cute. "Good job."

Suddenly Drax stood up. "Excuse me a moment. The others will be back soon, and I have something I must do before they return."

"Okay," I said, surprised. What could he possibly have to do? He didn't look _happy_, so whatever it was couldn't be a fun task. Okay, I was curious, but I was also worried. I looked at Groot, who was now bobbing his head in time to "Hooked on a Feeling." "Hey, Groot?" I lightly put a hand on his arm as I pressed the pause button. "I'm going to go check on Drax, okay? You stay put. Be careful with this thing, okay?" I indicated the walkman.

"I am Groot?" He held the walkman out to me, and I shook my head.

"No, no. You can listen to it. Just be careful. I'll be right back." I slipped out of the room and followed Drax along the hall to his bunk room. He left the door open just enough for me to peek inside, so when I was sure it was safe, I did.

And I almost passed out.

He was sitting on the floor _cutting himself._

_Oh my God no. No, no, no, no._

I practically threw the door off the hinges in an attempt to get to him. "What the _hell_ are you _doing_?" I half-screamed, torn between launching myself at him and trying to get the knife away, and grabbing the nearest communicator and calling Gamora for backup. In terms of diffusing an emotional bomb, I'm probably one of the least-helpful people on the planet.

But Drax just looked at me, confused. "I am inscribing a new marking on myself. I thought you would understand this."

For a second I just stood there like an idiot. Then, slowly, it dawned on me. Those markings on Drax, those tattoos—they weren't there by accident. Oh. _Oh._ So he wasn't self-harming. It was just a cultural thing. "I—I'm sorry," I stammered. "I saw the blood and I thought—I was afraid you—oh, never mind."

Drax stood up, blood still dripping down one arm (my stomach turned, just a little) and faced me. "You thought I was inflicting punishment on myself?"

"Something like that," I muttered, now thoroughly embarrassed.

Drax smiled and reached out to me, knife still in his hand. "Here. I want to show you…" He put the knife in my hand and then closed his hand around mine. (I blamed the skipped heartbeat on the overall weirdness of the situation.) "This is how we mark ourselves on my planet." He made tiny, progressively deeper marks, never showing any indication that he felt any pain.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, torn between fascination and revulsion. Don't get me wrong, I can handle blood, but the idea of anyone casually cutting themselves kind of made me cringe.

"Not so much. I've grown accustomed to the feeling." He started to mark a wider pattern. "Do you want to know what this particular marking represents?"

"Actually, I don't think you've ever told me the point of, um, marking yourself at all." My hand felt so small inside his. I'm not small by Earth standards, but next to Drax, I sure as hell looked like it.

"You're correct, I have not." He continued widening the cuts. (I tried not to gag.) "On my planet, these markings symbolize the most important events of a person's life. Leaving school, one's first battle, first courtship…marriage, the first child…" He paused and indicated the markings on the left side of his chest. "When one becomes betrothed, this is where the markings are placed. Close to the heart. The markings for other events may be placed wherever is most convenient."

"So…did you do this to celebrate when we killed Ronan? Or is that what you're working on now?" I nodded towards the raw, bloody patch on his left arm.

He shook his head. "No, I made those marks a long time ago…these are in honor of my new family." He looked up and met my eyes. I'm sure I was gaping like an idiot. "I consider joining with you and the others an event worthy of new markings. You are the first family I have had since Ronan murdered my wife and daughter. You have filled a place in my life that no one else could. For that, I believe, you and the others deserve to be honored."

"Oh…" To my utter dismay I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I couldn't even begin to think of how to respond to that. Up to now I'd thought that Drax had latched onto us out of convenience, not out of any real desire to stay with us. He needed a new purpose, having seen to it that Ronan was dead, and we provided an outlet for him to do what he did best. But now…oh, God. Now I understood. He wasn't here because he had nowhere else to be. He was here because he _wanted_ to be.

The tears threatened to spill over. "Um, I need to go…Groot's in there alone." Groot could take care of himself (and my walkman) without much effort, but I needed to get away before I actually started crying in front of Drax.

"Oh. Yes. It is probably best that you not leave him alone much longer. Rocket would be displeased." Drax carefully lifted the knife away from the markings and slipped it out of my hand. "Go and attend to him."

"Okay…and, um, thanks. For telling me about…the markings and…and saying that stuff. You know. about how we're your family…that was really sweet." And then I had to get out of there before he could reply. As soon as I was out of the room, the tears slid down my face and I had to frantically scrub them away before anyone saw them.

This, _this right here_, was why I couldn't let myself get emotionally involved. Because every time I did, I made myself look like a total idiot. Busting in the door to make sure he wasn't killing himself, _brilliant plan Quill, might as well a nametag that says "culturally insensitive jackass."_ And yet I couldn't help but think that maybe—the way he'd touched me—he'd had me help him mark himself—he'd told me such sweet things—oh, and the way he'd _looked_ at me—

_Like Groot looks at Rocket._

My heart almost stopped. Oh my God. _Oh my God_. What if…?

No. No, I was just being stupid, I was just overreacting, because there was no way Drax was in love with me. And there was no way in _hell_ I was going to let myself fall in love with him.

I had made the mistake of allowing myself to be vulnerable once. I was not going to do it again.


	4. Chapter 3

Gamora and Rocket eventually returned with the alcohol for our seventh-mission celebration. It was good stuff, too. Hardcore, barely-legal liquor, like the stuff Rocket had sent with Drax the night I'd stayed behind to dance by myself. Gamora handed it around, a wicked smile on her face, promising that by the time we got through all of it, we wouldn't even remember what we were celebrating.

Honestly, after the evening I'd had, that sounded like a _really_ good idea.

I avoided looking at Drax entirely and got by focusing on Gamora, Rocket, and Groot. I'd reclaimed my walkman and put the tape in the loudspeakers, so we could have some music while we partied. Gamora handed me a shot glass. "Try it. It's strong enough to—what's the line you always use on me?—knock you on your ass." Her eyes glittered as she passed the glass to me. She was _daring_ me.

And if there's one thing a well-raised Ravager kid can _never_ do, it's turn down a dare.

The alcohol burned going down. And I mean _really_ burned. I hadn't had anything that burned quite that badly since I'd accidentally swallowed a jalapeno when I was five years old. My throat felt like it was on fire. But I managed to swallow the whole thing. "Well, you weren't wrong," I told Gamora when I could speak. "_Wow_. What is that stuff, anyway?"

"It's called burnt whiskey, and you'll never guess where we got it. We bought it from your foster daddy," Rocket informed me. "Which makes me pretty sure it's not even remotely legal."

"You guys saw Yondu? Fuck, what'd he say? Is he going to come after us?" Suddenly one shot of mind-warping alcohol didn't seem like enough. I was torn between doing another three or four, and running to the cockpit to make sure the defense systems were working.

"No, he said to tell you—and this is a direct quote, mind you—'if you pull anything like that again I'm going to shove my arrow so far up your ass your brain will have holes in it.'"

Gamora laughed, but Drax looked confused. "If he means to put holes in your head, why would he not simply shoot you there? What is the point of going through your anal cavity?"

Rocket laughed so hard he spilled burnt whiskey on himself. "Holy shit. I'm going to write that one down, Drax."

"But what is the point of inscribing—"

"Okay, okay. This is a party, remember?" I looked at Gamora. "You do one of these yet?" I held up the shot glass. She shook her head. I pushed the glass into her hand. "Well, catch up, then. Go on."

She narrowed her eyes at me, but she was still smiling. "Catch up? You've had exactly one shot."

"Yeah, well, by the time you get the balls to do one, I'll be up to three or four."

She raised one eyebrow. "That sounds like a challenge."

"Why not?" I was feeling a little reckless. "Last one standing wins?"

Gamora eagerly snatched the bottle from Rocket and grabbed another shot glass from the table. "I've never engaged in recreational drinking before. This is going to be…interesting, to say the least." Her voice was as steady as ever, but I could see a flush of excitement in her cheeks. Suddenly what was left of my bad mood melted away. Okay, so I completely fucked up with Drax, but Gamora seemed happy, so my success rate with my teammates wasn't _entirely_ through the floor yet.

"Okay, okay, hold on, I wanna referee this shit." Rocket scrambled over to the table. "Both of you, sit down."

"Hold on." Gamora downed her shot without so much as flinching. "Okay. There, we're even. Now it's fair. We can start." She slid gracefully into her seat. I was almost unreasonably curious about whether or not she'd still have any of that athletic grace once she'd had a few shots. Probably not, but considering there were cybertronics in her body, who knew?

"Okay, ready?"

Gamora refilled her glass and pushed an already-full one towards me. "Ready."

I reached out and gripped the glass. "Ready."

"I am not sure this is a wise idea," Drax warned us, hovering anxiously over Rocket's shoulder.

Rocket waved a dismissive hand. "You worry too much, big guy. Gamora and Quill ain't babies. They wanna get wasted to prove they got balls, let 'em." He locked in on us again. "Okay, ready? One, two, three…go!"

I won't say it was the most fun I've ever had. Might've been the strongest alcoholic drink I'd ever had, but it wasn't my favorite—this stuff stung too much going down and tasted…well…_burnt_. But watching Gamora get louder and louder, her eyes brighter and her face more flushed with every drink, was absolutely worth it. I'd never seen her so happy, so _relaxed_. Okay, she was going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, and she'd probably kill me for it…but for right now it was worth it. I would have bet the _Milano_ that if she'd ever loosened up this much while she was working with Thanos or Ronan, she would've had her ass handed to her. And not for the first time, I realized what a damn good thing it was that the five of us had found each other.

But the biggest surprise was how well she could hold liquor. She was a happy drunk, but was she really even _drunk_? She was laughing, excited, egging me on, teasing me…but she seemed totally in control of herself. I, on the other hand, was a staggering, slurring _mess_ after about five shots. That shit was _strong_, but it seemed to barely affect her at all. Still I tried to keep up. And that was probably the dumbest thing I'd ever done. In my defense, I wasn't really trying to out-drink her. It was pretty clear about three shots in that wasn't going to happen. But I didn't want the fun to end, because it was her first time doing something like this and I wanted to drag it out, let her really enjoy it. So I resolved to keep going until she wasn't having fun anymore. Or until I was dead, whichever came first.

So that was what I did, and it wasn't until the entire room was going around in black circles and a semi-familiar voice was asking me if I was okay that I realized just how wasted I actually was. "'m fine," I slurred, raising a shot glass (that may or may not have actually had anything in it) in a weak toast. "Gotta keep up…righ'?" I sounded like I had a mouthful of cotton balls. It's a wonder whoever was talking to me could understand what I was saying.

"I think you've had enough." A hand reached out and plucked the glass from me.

"Dammit…ya beat me? Really?" I tried to focus on the vague green blur that was Gamora. "Wow. Way'a go…wanna rematch?"

She wasn't laughing now. "Are you sure you're all right? Drax, can you get him to his room?"

"I can." And suddenly I was lifted out of my chair.

"Stoooooop," I whined as the brick shithouse known as Drax the Destroyer unceremoniously hauled me away from the party. (Okay, five-person party. But still. Party nonetheless.) "Wanna go baaaack. Put me dooooown." I tried to squirm away, but everything felt so heavy. I couldn't really _move_, but I sort of flopped.

"You are dangerously intoxicated. It would not be wise to allow you to go back into a situation where you could consume more alcohol."

Jesus Christ, did he _have_ to talk like Shakespeare _all the damn time_? "Talk normal," I whined, hoping he'd get the message.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear—"

"Shut up, then." I let my head fall back. "Ow. Tired. Put me down."

"I will set you down only when we have reached your sleeping quarters."

And normally that would've made me struggle to get away, but I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and did I mention the entire room was going around in black circles and I couldn't really see anything? Also I was tired. So I let Drax carry me. Seemed easier. Anyway, I was unconscious before we made it to my room.

~o~

_Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Make it stop. Make it go away. Ow. Stop. Pain. Dry mouth. What's—oh, that sound was my stomach. Shit. I'm going to throw up…nope, I'm not. Okay. Good because I know I won't make it to the bathroom. Can't move. Owwwwww…_

_Okay, what the _fuck_ happened last night?_

I tried to drag my eyelids open, but no dice. The slightest bit of light made my head pound even worse than it already was, and I was pretty sure if I tried to move I'd crack up and fall apart like a year-old gingerbread house.

_Okay, moving. Bad idea._

But my stomach was giving me warnings again, and I knew if I threw up on myself I'd regret that later. So I rolled over and _ow fuck hello floor how are you today_?

That was when Gamora found me. "Oh!" She hurried into my room and knelt by my side. "Are you all right? Are you ill?"

"I'm gonna puke." Not the most eloquent way of putting it, but my brain wasn't exactly in full working order at the moment. "Either kill me or help me to the bathroom," I croaked.

Gamora sympathetically patted my back. "It's all right. Here." She lifted me up and set me on my feet as if I were a small child. Damn. Strong woman. "Lean on me." She guided me to the bathroom and, to my absolute amazement, stayed with me while I threw up. And then I threw up again. She stayed put. "Better now?" she asked when I was finally finished.

"No…worst hangover ever." I was finally able to open my eyes enough to get a good look at her. She was pristine as ever. "Just figures that you wouldn't have one."

"I assume it's due to the genetic modifications Thanos installed…do you want some water? Or pain medication?"

I shook my head. Ooh, bad move. Pain exploded through my skull. "No. Coffee. Need coffee." I pushed myself up, using the toilet for support. Gamora quickly reached out to steady me as I swayed on my feet. "Okay. Coffee. Need coffee. Kitchen. Nice kitchen. Let's go."

She gently helped me down the hallway and into the kitchen, where Drax—damn him—was already awake and making breakfast. Oh, God. Food. The smell almost made me throw up again. "I'm going to die," I announced.

Gamora laughed softly and carefully guided me into a chair. "No, you're not. You just need something to drink and a little more rest. And perhaps in the future, it would be better if you did not drink past your limits."

"I was trying to…not even gonna say that, nevermind." I leaned over and put my head on my arms. "If you're not going to help, get away from me."

"What else can I possibly do to help?"

"Murder me?"

"Certainly not. I told you, you aren't _dying_. You're just suffering the aftereffects of your own arrogance."

"And that has got to be the most long-winded term for _hangover_ I've ever heard."

Drax chose that moment to jump in. "If you would like, Peter, I can make you a cup of herbal tea. It may help with your headache."

"Damn. Yes, please. Anything to make it go away." I dragged myself back into a sitting position. Gamora, kill me now, actually looked _amused._ "I take it you had fun last night?"

"Yes, thank you. That was quite enjoyable." She paused, and then added with a mischievous smile, "Though perhaps we shouldn't do it again…it seems _one of us_ can't handle it."

"Hey, I can hold my liquor. Usually. That shit was _toxic._"

"Then you shouldn't have had so much of it." A muffled _thud_ came from over our heads, and Gamora looked up to the ceiling. "Oh, not again." She rolled her eyes. "Excuse me, Peter. I believe Rocket is trying to modify the controls in the cockpit again."

She left, and suddenly I was alone with Drax. Oh, lovely. I didn't even want to think about what had come out of my mouth when I was drunk last night. "So, give it to me straight," I said as he shuffled around behind me, presumably making that tea. "How badly did I embarrass myself last night? The truth, please."

"You did nothing to shame yourself." Drax came around and set a steaming cup in front of me. I inhaled and almost immediately my body started to relax. Unlike the food, this actually smelled good. "It was interesting watching your dynamic with Gamora," he remarked as he sat down.

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before. People think we should be fuckin' dating or whatever. Too bad she's about as interested in me as I am in fucking another Askavarian." I took a tentative sip of tea. "Oh, that's good. What the hell is in here?"

Drax rattled off a list of the properties found in the tea leaves he'd used, but I tuned most of it out. The idea was to get him talking about something else, something insignificant, so he wouldn't mention—

"I was the one who put you in your bed last night. Do you recall this?"

Oh, yep. There it was. "Yeah. Well, no surprise there. Seeing as Groot's still in baby-mode you're the only one who can pick me up like that." I took another drink and reluctantly added, "Thanks, by the way. I probably was a real jerk to you. Sorry about that."

"You were not unkind. You did whine a little…but you forget, I was a father. Whining is nothing new to me." He looked a little pleased with himself. "Is the tea helping?"

"A little. I can actually see now." I tried to sit up straight, but nope, that wasn't going to happen. I winced and put my head in my hand. "Ugh. I'm never drinking again."

"I sincerely doubt that."

Drax stood up and went around behind me. I thought he was going to start cooking again, but instead the next thing I felt was the firm—but not _too_ firm—pressure of his hands on my head. Oh. _Oh,_ that felt good. Still I tensed a little, and I would've pushed him away if I could move that much. "Wait, no, what are you doing?" I blurted out.

He didn't stop. "I thought this would alleviate your headache. Is it working?"

I didn't say anything for a minute. Just relaxed and let his warm, sure hands caress my head, and okay, yeah, that was helping a _lot_. "Oh, yeah. It's working. It's really working."

"Good."

There was a nice, comfortable silence after that. He worked his fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp until the pain shrank to a whisper. Oh, man. This was better than Tylenol. It only got better when he worked downward and began to stroke the tense muscles at the back of my neck. "Oh. That feels nice," I sighed, and—I swear I wouldn't have done this if I'd been in my right mind—leaned back against him. _Please, please don't let this end._

Slowly his hands moved from my neck to my shoulders and oh, God, fuck me crazy if that wasn't the _best damn thing ever._ "Where'd you learn to do this?" I asked, practically melting into the chair.

"I was married," he reminded me.

"Lucky woman." I rested my head against his chest. "She probably never drank herself stupid, though. Smarter than me. Then again, everyone is."

"Quiet." He took a moment to reassuringly pat my arm. "You are more intelligent than you seem to believe…and everyone makes mistakes."

I didn't say anything. Really, what could I say in response to that?

Drax continued to massage my shoulders, applying steadily more pressure as the moments slid by. I was almost _boneless_ at that point. Damn, damn, _damn_ he was good at this. The tension had almost entirely drained away and I'd completely forgotten how sick I felt, when it happened.

His thumb pressed a sensitive point near my neck. Not just _any_ sensitive point—this just so happened to be one of the spots that, when touched or kissed a certain way, turned me on. And without really meaning to, without even realizing I was going to do it until it was too late, I let out a low, whining moan. The kind of moan that couldn't be mistaken, even by Drax, for anything _but_ a sound of pleasure.

His hands momentarily stilled. "Are you feeling all right?"

_Yes. Wonderful. Don't ever stop._ I ignored that thought and pushed his hands away. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said, my voice sounding rough and awkward to my own ears. I could only imagine what he must've thought of me. _Manwhore_ was the first word to come to mind, but knowing Drax I'm sure he could come up with a few more. I stood up, still a little unsteady on my feet. My muscles immediately whined at me for trying to move, but I ignored the pain. "I have to go lie down. I'll talk to you later." Oh God. So awkward. But what could I do? I turned around and left.

I heard Drax say, "Peter, please wait," but I didn't listen. This was a dangerous situation.

He wasn't mine. And he never could be. The sooner I drummed that into my own head, the better.


	5. Chapter 4

**There is a slight **_**Star Trek**_** crossover in this chapter. If you've seen the original series (especially the episode "Patterns of Force") you'll recognize it. If not, I'll explain at the end.**

**Warning: references to Nazi Germany (part of the **_**Star Trek**_** crossover), not meant to be offensive. References to violence (I still can't write a fight scene to save my life, I swear) and self-punishment, which may be triggering. Proceed with caution if any of that triggers and/or makes you uncomfortable.**

For the first few months, all of our missions involved picking up wanted criminals and delivering them to the proper authorities. It wasn't until the start of month four, when Groot was within a foot of his original height and Rocket had started sleeping on his chest again (and, okay, that was only the cutest fucking thing _ever_) that I suggested we get a little more adventurous. "What if," I asked my team one night over dinner, "we got a little adventurous?"

Gamora immediately perked up. "How adventurous, may I ask?"

"Like, total vigilante adventurous."

I swear she actually licked her lips. "I like the sound of that. Continue."

I noticed Drax didn't look up, even though I knew he usually loved this kind of stuff. But then again, he had been cautious around me since the hangover-massage incident, when I'd probably scarred him for life, metaphorically speaking, by moaning like a slut when the poor guy was just trying to help me get rid of a headache.

Undeterred, I went on, "There's this tiny little planet—I mean, like, _Pluto_-tiny—a couple thousand miles away, it's called Ekos and they're in serious trouble. I've been watching them a little and there's some really disturbing shit going on over there. Genocide, nationalism, food shortages, all-out war in some areas. I think we should go check it out. And, y'know, fix whatever's going on. Maybe rip out some spines." I looked at Drax, who finally raised his head at the phrase "ripping spines." "How about it? Want to go dish up some justice?"

Gamora looked excited. "I say yes."

"And what do we get out of it?" Rocket demanded. "You can't seriously think there'll be a reward for this."

"Yeah, you're right…but," I said, thinking quickly, "you've been working on some new weapons, right? This could be a chance to try them out." When Rocket still didn't look convinced, I appealed to Groot. "Besides, Groot hasn't seen any action for months. He needs to get back into it, don't you, buddy?" If Groot was in, there was no question that Rocket would be, too.

"I am Groot," he said, nodding his head approvingly.

Rocket actually pouted. "Oh, _fine_. I'll just go to look after _you,_ you big lug." But his tone was anything but harsh, and the way he looked at Groot…well, let's just say if anyone looked at me like that, I don't think I ever would've looked away.

I looked to Drax. "You up for it?"

Drax cocked his head to the side, the way he often did when trying to understand my figures of speech. "I do not wish to climb to anything."

"No, I mean…you want to do it?"

"Oh. Yes. I would like to help you liberate this planet."

"That settles it, then." I looked around at my team. "I've already set our course—I had a feeling you'd be down with it—so all we have to do is make up a battle plan. Gamora, you want to do that?"

"It would be my genuine pleasure." She licked her lips again, and I couldn't hold back a smile. Whoever the corrupt bastards in charge on this planet were, they were about to get _nailed_. I didn't envy them at all. Gamora was a sucker for justice. That was why her favorite game _ever_ was "catch the dirty criminal before he kills again."

"Excellent. Then let's get this show on the road. This time tomorrow night, those guys'll be free as birds, the bad guys will be gone, and we'll be heroes."

~o~

We were not heroes. Not even close.

We were outmatched from the start. The planet we were on had no concept of continents or different countries, and they seemed to have modeled their entire government on Nazi Germany, which I knew far too little about, having left Terra before I was old enough to study it much in school. All I knew was that this planet was full of genocidal maniacs who blamed every problem they had on "impure" races. I was forcibly reminded of Ronan. Imagine facing down eight thousand Ronans, all of them in perfect tune with one another, minus the Infinity Stone (small improvement, that) and genetic modifications that made them nearly impossible to kill. That was what we were up against.

We started out by trying to liberate the camps that the prisoners were housed in. That in itself was beyond heartbreaking, seeing the hundreds of starving, diseased prisoners straggling out of their bunkers in their ragged prison uniforms. We didn't know what to do with them once we'd released them—that wasn't exactly in our battle plan—so we herded them into the cleanest building we could find and gave them food from the excess stock that the Nova Corps had put in the _Milano_. Too many of them had life-threatening illnesses or gaping wounds that all the gauze in the world couldn't properly cover, and I had no idea how to treat any of it. Within the hour, half of our refugees died.

The farther in we got, the worse of an idea it seemed. We went to the other camp, killed the guards, saved the prisoners, and once again, a lot of them were beyond help. I felt helpless, which made me angry, and when I'm angry I don't yell, I don't flail around and throw little temper-tantrums, that's for children. I just kick the _shit_ out of whatever's pissing me off. And what was pissing me off, in this case, was the leaders of this fucking backasswards planet.

So we broke into the main building and violently killed half of the government before they figured out what was going on and alerted the military. And that was when we were faced with eight thousand Ronans. Even with all of Rocket's weapons, and Groot and Drax's brute strength, and Gamora's combat skills, we were hopelessly outmatched. The army was a seamless team, and we were pretty in-tune with each other as well, but there were five of us and thousands of them. And I knew that if we didn't do something, we would get killed.

I looked around. Drax was fighting off five of them at once…and he might have been winning, but there were streaks of sticky, ugly-red blood running down his face and he looked exhausted.. Groot had several soldiers wrapped in his vines and was beating another handful with heavy, thick branches. He, at least, seemed to be holding his own. Rocket was trying to dodge hits from those in his immediate vicinity while he reloaded his gun. And Gamora had just fought her way out of a chokehold and was now on her back, hands pinned over her head, kicking those nearest her in the kneecaps and the balls. I knew she couldn't hold out much longer.

And I knew what I had to do. "Retreat!" I ordered them, and we did, Groot scooping up all four of us in his long arms, wrapping vines around us to protect us from bullets, and running for the _Milano_ (and hey, if he stepped on a few dozen soldiers along the way, I didn't complain).

We ran past the building where we had tried to shelter the camp refugees. "Wait!" Gamora called out. "What will we do about them?"

Before we could decide, three of the soldiers on our tail shot poisonous bombs into the building. Groot roared with fear and anger and picked up the pace. We reached the _Milano_ just as the poison bombs went off. I could hear the screams of the terrified prisoners as we lifted off.

I fell to my knees as the _Milano_ lifted off. Rocket had already assumed the controls. "I didn't know how bad it would be," I choked out. Somehow I needed to explain myself, to justify my own failure. "I thought we would…that we could…that there was a _way_…" My throat closed off. All I could hear was the screams, even though we were well out of range by now.

Gamora knelt beside me and gently rested her hand on my shoulder. "We should have done more reconnaissance. That wasn't your fault, Peter."

I stood up and paced the room. "Yes it was! Did you not hear the screaming, Gamora? Those people _died_ because I was too fucking _stupid_ to understand that we'd be on our own!"

The plan that Gamora and I had come up with was pretty simple. Liberate the ghettos, the prisons and the holding camps, arm the strongest people we found, and enlist them to help us overthrow the corrupt government. Then we'd help them install their own leader. That was the plan. What I hadn't counted on was the prisons and camps being full of dying, helpless people who couldn't defend themselves against a baby deer, much less a military official.

Gamora reached out to me again. "Peter. How could you have known? We were all involved, we all could have done better—"

"It was my job to do the research…I thought we'd have more to work with…but I didn't factor in every scenario and look where it got us!" I gestured helplessly around the ship. "We _failed_. No…_I_ failed. I just murdered half a planet. Oh, God…I just murdered half a fucking _planet_! What the _fuck_ is wrong with all of you? Why are you still here? Why haven't you thrown me out the airlock?"

"Peter, hey, _hey,_ what's the _matter _with you?" Rocket tugged insistently on the hem of my jacket. I impatiently pushed him away, and he jumped back, surprised. "We ain't throwing you out the airlock, but you gotta _shut up_ for a minute. How could this be _your_ fault? We're a team, remember?"

"I'm supposed to be the leader…I _promised_ Dey I'd look after you, and what do I do? I kill people. There are dead people out there because of me." I resumed pacing, running my hands anxiously through my hair. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, I can't believe how _stupid_ I am."

"I am Groot?"

"Yeah, good idea," Rocket said, eyeing me a little nervously.

The anger boiling inside me overflowed. I turned and punched the wall, _hard_, and all that got me was a pain that shot all the way up my arm. I doubled over from the pain, only to straighten up and find that long, thin vines were coiling around my legs and gently wrapping around my midsection. The next thing I knew, a set of sturdy branches was restricting my arms. "What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" I demanded, struggling fruitlessly against the branches. "Let _go_ of me!"

"I am _Groot_," Groot insisted, pulling the vines tighter.

"He's afraid you're gonna hurt yourself," Rocket translated.

"LET THE FUCK GO OF ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW."

The entire room fell silent. I'd never shouted at Groot before, especially not like that. But he could tell I meant business, clearly. Because the vines loosened, and I was able to yank myself free, and I could get the hell out of that room, which was obviously what I needed to do, and I got myself down the hall and into my room. I knew I needed to get out of there before I seriously hurt someone.

The only person who deserved to hurt right now was me.

~o~

I don't know how much time passed before the door opened, and the mattress dipped with the addition of a new person's weight. "Peter? I brought you some dinner." Gamora's voice was soft, cautious. I felt so awful because I knew I'd scared her earlier.

Slowly, reluctantly, I turned over on my back. I'd spent the first half-hour of my isolation screaming into a pillow until my vocal cords felt inflamed. "I'm not hungry," I rasped, and I swear her eyebrows shot into her hairline.

"You should drink some water at least," she urged me.

I did, just to make her happy. "I'm sorry if I scared you earlier."

"I just don't like seeing you so unhappy." She reached over and gently touched my arm. "You know that what happened was a collective effort, don't you? We did it as a team. We underestimated our opponent. It was not only you. It was all of us. Please don't blame yourself."

I took a deep breath. "I know. But I'm the leader. I'm responsible."

She sighed and stood up. "I know there isn't anything I can say that will change the way you feel." She walked towards the open door. "If you need me, you know where I am."

Twice more someone came with food. Rocket, then Gamora again. Both times I turned them down, even though I was getting hungry—I had no idea how long I'd been alone, but I did know it had been far too long since I'd eaten. My stomach was growling. But I didn't deserve to eat. I'd lost a mission. I had let down my team and the planet I was trying to defend. I wasn't worth the wasted resources. They'd tried their hardest. They'd done better than I had. They'd earned the right to eat. I hadn't.

I knew that sooner or later, they'd send Drax, and they did. "Gamora and Rocket have informed me that you have not consumed any food for the last 24 hours. Why is that?"

This was not fair. This was _so_ not fair. They must have known, then, that I hadn't allowed myself the relief of sleep, either. That I was so hungry my stomach felt sick. That I needed food and sleep more than anything except maybe oxygen. It was so not fair for them to tease me with this when we all knew I didn't deserve it. "Drax, _please _go away."

"I will not leave until you have eaten."

When Drax says something, he always means it. I was, once again, fighting a losing battle. I sighed and dragged myself into a sitting position. My vision was fuzzy. I almost felt hungover, but I didn't want to think about what that meant. "Drax. I mean it. Go. You've got better things to do. Leave me alone. I don't deserve company, not now." There, it was out. The elephant in the room had been addressed.

"What do you mean, you do not deserve companionship?" Then he got it. His eyes narrowed. "Peter, are you attempting to punish yourself?"

"What do you think, idiot? I failed. I don't deserve food. So I've stayed back and let you guys have it because, unlike me, you actually did what you were supposed to do. I'm supposed to be in charge and I let everyone down, therefore I don't get to eat. It's pretty simple, actually." If I'd been even remotely in my right mind, and someone had said that to me, I would have asked how in the hell they drew that conclusion. But I was feeling light-headed and I couldn't get any other words out, so I slumped back against the wall and left it at that.

I was startled when Drax sat down on the edge of my bed. "Why are you so harsh with yourself, and so kind to us?" he asked directly, and okay, _ow_, that hurt. I was too tired to pinpoint _why_ it hurt, but that didn't matter because _ow that really hurt_.

"Because you deserve it and I don't, we literally _just_ went over this." I rubbed at my eyes. God, my head hurt.

A gentle hand brushed across my back and I jumped. What was that—oh, Drax was touching me. Why was he touching me? "Was this a rule that your Ravagers enforced upon you? If your mission was unsuccessful, you would be denied food?"

_No. No, no, no. We are not talking about this._ "Just _go_," I begged him. "Please, just let me—"

_Let me die here alone._

I didn't have to say it. Drax knew where I was going with that. And he wasn't going to stand for it. I felt his arms close around me and I let him do it; I didn't have the energy to fight back. "I will not let you do this to yourself," he said quietly, and as with everything else he said, I knew he meant it. And oh, my God, this was just like the massage, just like when he'd held my hand while he marked himself, except this time I couldn't get away, I was trapped, I couldn't leave, I couldn't shut the door. It was wide open. _I_ was wide open, broken, exposed, forced to let him in, forced to let him see just how completely _awful_ I really was—

A hand snaked its way to my face, gently stroking my cheek, forcing me to rest my head against his chest and _how did I get into his lap again?_ I felt something poking at my lips. I pressed my lips together tightly, hoping he'd get the hint, but he kept at it, nudging whatever-it-was insistently against my closed mouth. I didn't even know what it was—at this point I didn't really care—but I knew it wasn't going to go away, so I opened my mouth and let him put it inside.

It was hot. And salty. Whatever it was, it was fresh. So not only was he making me eat, he'd probably _cooked_ for me. I felt hot, unwelcome tears pricking at my eyelids. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping they'd go away. "You can't do this," I heard myself say. "You can't—I'm not—you shouldn't—you shouldn't _care_, I don't deserve this, I—"

"Shh." He cut off my babbling by making me eat another bite of whatever-it-was. This time I didn't even try to resist. "There," he said softly. "That's better, isn't it?"

And then he did the last thing I expected him to do: pressed a fork (or spoon, maybe, I didn't look) into my hand. He didn't have to say _I'm trusting you, don't throw this at me_ because I knew that was what he was telling me. Either that, or he was testing me, seeing if I was really going to do what he wanted and eat, or if I was going to go back to starving myself.

I stared unwillingly at the plate of food for a moment. Nothing I recognized. Probably something that had originated on his home planet. Maybe he'd made it for his family, back before Ronan got to them—okay, no, I wasn't going to think about that right now. To keep my brain from making me think, I started eating. I pretended not to notice the look of relief on Drax's face. I didn't even know why he was doing this. Probably Gamora had put him up to it. It sure as fuck couldn't be because he actually gave two shits about me. How could he ever love me—or even just like me—now? He was from a warrior culture and not only had I lost a battle, but I'd caused him to lose one as well. He could never forgive me for that…could he?

I couldn't think about it or I'd go insane. So I just sat there, and let him watch me eat, and tried not to think about anything except how good it tasted (and how I didn't fucking deserve a single bite of it).

"Thank you," he said when I was finished. "Will you rest now?"

"Okay, now you're pushing it."

"Let me rephrase. If you don't sleep of your own accord, Gamora will come into this room and force-feed you a sleeping pill."

Oh, come _on_. I curled up on my side and buried my face in the pillow. "Go away, Drax."

"I think you know by now that I won't do that. Not until I'm satisfied that you aren't deliberately harming yourself." He moved up a little, so he was right beside me. His hand made slow, light circles on my back, caressing my skin through the fabric of the battle jumpsuit I'd never taken off. "You need to rest. If I have to, I will stay right here to ensure that you do."

I tried to tell him, because he obviously hadn't got the message the first half-dozen times, that I didn't deserve this, that he was being too kind to me, that he shouldn't baby me like this. I tried to tell him he could go, that he _should_ go, he should leave before I somehow hurt him too.

I tried to tell him, but I couldn't. The words just wouldn't come out. Because the way he was touching me felt too good, and because I was too tired to fight him any longer, and because I'd already given in on the food thing so I might as well give in on this too. Because I was weak, and I couldn't resist him, and somehow Gamora must have known that because she sent him in to deal with me when she and Rocket couldn't.

I could have imagined it—no, I _had_ to imagine it, there was no way he felt sorry enough for me to do _this_—but I could swear, as I gave up struggling and let sleep overtake me, that his arms closed around me again, and my head fell against his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat was what finally forced me to sleep.

~o~

He was gone in the morning. Of course he was. He'd done what he meant to do, why would he stay?

It didn't matter. I forced myself to get out of bed. I couldn't hide away in here forever; how would that look to my team? Now I was even more thoroughly ashamed of myself. Not only had I lost a fight, but I'd behaved so childishly afterwards. How could I ever have let them see me like that? I felt another gut-punch of regret as I remembered how worried Groot had been, and how harsh I'd been with him in return. Poor guy was just concerned, there was no need for me to beat up on him like that.

I found my team in the kitchen, talking together quietly. They all looked up when I came in, and I cringed at the nervous looks on their faces. How awful had I really been, to make _Gamora_ look so worried? Gamora was an adopted daughter of Thanos, for God's sake. She wasn't afraid of _anything_, and I'd scared her. My God, why had they not killed me?

For a long, agonizing moment we all stared at each other. When I couldn't bear the silence for another second, I sighed and said, "Well, I guess saying 'I'm sorry' won't really do much good…if I were you I'd have kicked me out by now…but I'll say it anyway." I looked at Groot. "I'm sorry I scared you. And then yelled at you. You were just trying to help…I'm so sorry."

I turned back to Gamora, with the intention of apologizing to her next, but before I could I found myself caught up in a huge wooden bear-hug. I could hear Rocket laughing as Groot scooped me up like a baby and squeezed me against his chest. "Can't breathe, _can't breathe_!" I protested, but he only giggled (the tree fucking giggled, I swear I don't know how this was my life) and snuggled me closer to his chest, like I was his puppy or something.

When he put me down I became aware of a tiny, clawed hand patting at my leg. I looked down and saw Rocket. "I was gonna rip you to shreds, but since you apologized to Groot, I guess I'll have to let you live." He was only half-joking.

"Thanks." I paused, and then added (I couldn't help it) "I don't deserve it, though. Your forgiveness, I mean…" I looked around at my team again. "I mean it guys, I'm so, _so_ sorry. If I ever hurt any of you like that again, seriously, you have my permission to throw me out the damn airlock."

Groot reached over and hugged me from behind, causing me to emit a squeak of surprise. "I am Groot. I am _Groot_," he insisted, squeezing me tighter when I tried to get away.

"He says to stop talking bad about yourself," Rocket explained. "Says he was more afraid of you hurting you than you hurting him."

"I wouldn't—" I began, but Gamora cut me off.

"If you feel your performance on Ekos was inadequate, there are better ways to improve it than by starving yourself," she informed me, folding her arms and giving me a stern look. "I trained under Thanos, remember? I _know_ these things."

I almost laughed at that. _I trained under Thanos, I know these things._ Like Thanos had been her fucking basketball coach or something. But all I said was, "Okay. I get it…and I'm sorry I yelled at you too. That was a dick move on my part. I'm sorry."

"If you say 'I'm sorry,' one more time, I'm going to bite you," Rocket snapped. "Look, everybody fucks up, okay? You didn't do anything unforgivable. You're kind of a dumbfuck, Quill, but you know we all still like you anyway, so I don't know what the hell you're beating yourself up about." 

I stared at him, shocked. "Seriously? Do I need to remind you that it's because of me all those people on that planet are dead?"

"They were going to kill them anyway, and you were just trying to help." Rocket rolled his eyes. "Really though, the way you talk sometimes it's like you're _looking_ for excuses to talk shit about yourself."

"You should know that if you are ever feeling unhappy, you can bring your troubles to us," Gamora said, gently putting her hand on my arm. "We _are _your friends, aren't we? Is that not what friends are supposed to do?"

"I am Groot," Groot agreed, and he finally released me.

Drax had been mysteriously quiet this whole time, but now he spoke up. "It pains us to hear you speak ill of yourself, when we care so deeply for you."

Oh. _Oh,_ right in the heart. I fought back the urge to cry (or worse, rush over there and throw myself into his arms) and stood up straight. "I appreciate the concern. I really do. I'm okay now, though. I was just upset that I fucked up so badly when we were on that planet…but I'm fine now. Really," I added, when Gamora looked at me skeptically. "Really. I'm okay."

I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and was rewarded with a smile. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. If she was happy again—if Groot had forgiven me for yelling at him—if Drax was really looking at me like that again, like I was some kind of treasure, instead of someone to be pitied—then everything was going to be okay. I looked around at my team. Even Rocket seemed satisfied now. "So, what do we do now?" I asked, already knowing what the answer would be. "Should we go back to Knowhere and find someone to turn in or what?"

Rocket smiled that wicked, almost feral smile like he always did when violence, bounty-hunting, or high-unit rewards were brought into the conversation. "Now _there's_ the Peter Quill I know." He whipped out his pad. "Let's get cracking."

"Do you mean we will crack their bones? I am not at all opposed to that," Drax said, and then looked surprised when Rocket and I laughed. Then a sudden, inexplicable smile came over his face, and his voice softened considerably. "It is good to hear you laugh again, Peter."

Okay, now he was doing that on purpose. "Thanks," I said, cringing at how _stiff_ I sounded. I reminded myself for the hundredth time that it didn't matter what he thought of me, because I was _not_ in love with him and _nothing_ was going to happen between us and there was no point in trying.

As the others started to scroll through pictures on Rocket's tablet, trying to find a suitable criminal to hunt down, I considered my options. Okay, punishing myself was not going to work. Not with all of them watching my every move. But maybe that wasn't the only way I could make up for what I'd done to those people on Ekos…after all, Gamora had said it herself—_if you feel your performance was inadequate, there are better ways._

Okay. I couldn't take back what had happened on Ekos. I could never fix my mistakes there. But I could make damn sure I never made the same mistakes again.

**So, quick explanation to anyone who hasn't seen the original **_**Star Trek**_** episode "Patterns of Force." **_**Ekos**_** is a planet visited by a Starfleet Academy professor who is there as a cultural observer…but he majorly screws up when he imposes a form of National Socialism on the planet, hoping to end their economic crisis. The planet basically turns into a Nazi state, which Kirk and Spock have to infiltrate and take apart. And in this story, that's the planet that Peter & co try to liberate (this obviously takes place before Kirk and Spock get to it).**

**I decided to write this in because I wanted there to be a situation where the Guardians are completely overwhelmed, and I suck at making up planets and government systems and planet names and cultures (so I'll never be a legit science fiction writer, that's a fact). I figured a totally militarized planet would provide the most challenge, so I borrowed Ekos from **_**Star Trek.**_

**So this is it for the chapters I have "banked up," meaning that it'll take me a little time to get the next one ready. School started this week, so I'm going to be slower with the updates from here on out, just a heads-up :)**


	6. Chapter 5

I decided after three weeks of literally and figuratively working my ass off that I liked exercise better than alcohol. Because with alcohol there was that pesky risk of heightened emotions and dark secrets slipping out when I couldn't control myself, and with exercise that risk wasn't there. But I could still lose myself in it, still work myself to the point of exhaustion, crawl back to bed and fall so deeply asleep I didn't even dream. Holy shit, why the _hell_ hadn't I started working out like this years ago?

I trained hard, determined not to fail again. Never again would I let someone down the way I'd let down Ekos—or the way I'd let down my team. Gamora approved of my new routine, thinking, I guess, that it was better than starving myself. She offered me training advice (most of which, I admit, was too extreme to work for me, but still, the thought counted) and scolded Groot when he tried to block my access to the training room. I'm about 99.9% sure all he wanted was my attention—though I couldn't guess _why_, not when Rocket was so thrilled to have his best friend back that he probably would have bungee-jumped out of the airlock if that was what Groot wanted to do—but it was still annoying, and I was grateful to Gamora for deterring him.

Rocket, on the other hand, thought I was an idiot and told me so a half-dozen times. I got very used to hearing _come on, Quill, you do more pushups than any idiot I've ever met_, _you're going to kill yourself idiot, what the hell is wrong with you no one needs to do that many pull-ups you're an idiot, I can't tell if your ego is that swollen or if you're just such an idiot that you actually think it's healthy to run that many laps in one day._ But that was just classic Rocket. I was beginning to think that _idiot_, coming from him, was actually a term of endearment.

But Drax—Drax, amazing, sexy, undeterrable Drax, whom I still couldn't get out of my head—wouldn't stop with just advising me, like Gamora did. He actually worked out with me, and it became something of a game with us, trying to outdo each other. He beat me every time, obviously, but I had fun anyway. Because this? This bro-y, bonding stuff? _This_ I could do. It reminded me of Kraglin teaching me to shoot a blaster, or Yondu taking me to a bar for the first time and coaching me through my first attempt at picking up a girl. That was easy. As long as we didn't actually, physically touch—because every time we did the illusion would shatter, and I'd be forcibly reminded that I _liked_ him in a way that I knew I shouldn't.

And maybe it was working, all that extra exercise. I couldn't tell. I was able to lift heavier weights with each session, and my running times were improving, but I felt so fucking _tired_ all the time. I tried to sleep more, but there was so much that had to be done. The _Milano_ wasn't going to maintain itself, after all, and Rocket deserved a break from running all the upgrades. When he tried to shoo me away, I told him he could use the extra time to make more bombs. He didn't object after that. And then I'd always have to help Gamora research new missions for us, because as we'd found out last time, only one person doing research and recon could lead to disaster. And Drax shouldn't have to do the cooking _all_ the time. I mean, sure, he was easily the best at it, but didn't he deserve a break now and then, too? I _was_ supposed to be the leader, after all. And I was determined to be better at it than Yondu, because I'd always hated when he'd pass off all the work onto us and laze around doing nothing. I didn't want to _ever_ do that to my crew. They were depending on me, weren't they?

After the disaster on Ekos, we took it easy for a few weeks, just doing some fairly easy (and, according to Rocket, fairly _boring_) find-the-bad-guy-and-get-reward-money-from-Xandar kind of stuff, and then Gamora showed me a drug ring she'd found on Knowhere. "These men have kidnapped three young women and are planning to sell them as prostitutes," she informed me. "And they have also slaughtered dozens of young men whom they did not think fit candidates for their 'training' programs. I think we should tear them apart."

"I agree." I set course for Knowhere. "Let's do it."

We formulated a plan well before we got there. Rocket, our resident techno-expert, would get us past the electronic security drones by disabling them with magnet bullets that would short them out. Drax, Gamora, and Groot, the three best fighters, would raze the kingpin's headquarters to the ground. Meanwhile I would rescue the girls, and any other captives I found along the way.

The kingpin was about as threatening as a lump of coal, from what Gamora told me later. Apparently once they got in, Groot was able to capture him in about .000002 seconds. It was his security we had to worry about. Rocket had those awesome magnetic bullets that could disable anything electric, but we hadn't counted on so many flesh-and-blood goons being there as well. But the others could handle that. My job was to be sneaky, to get in and get out undetected.

Oh, if only.

I found the girls—Kree girls, all three of them, barely old enough to mate at all, much less work in a brothel—in a tiny holding cell in the basement. The place stank, and the three of them looked absolutely terrified. I wasn't surprised that the sight of me didn't seem to ease their fear. "You're Star-Lord," one of them pointed out. Like I didn't already know that. "The one who killed Ronan the Accuser."

A guard came charging down the steps. I shot him with my blaster, then turned back to the girls. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"No, no, he scared us, we just…" Another one of the girls was giving me the side-eye. "We're afraid of you too. Because he was super-powerful so if you killed him, you must be too."

"Total fluke, I promise. Stand back." They did, and I blasted the lock off their cell door. "Okay, c'mon. My job is to get you three the hell out of here. Are there any more of you down here?" 

"Not that we know of."

"Great, then let's go."

I led them out through the underground maze of hallways, staircases, and locked doors that I didn't have time to unlock the conventional way. I blasted my way out, which probably didn't do a whole lot for that whole stealth thing. In the end I was able to get the girls to Gamora, who had the job of taking them to Xandar in one of the _Milano_'s escape pods, so the Nova Corps could figure out a way to get them home. That was great, but the problem was, now we were surrounded by some very pissed-off drug lord flunkies who were not happy that their prostitutes had been whisked off to safety and their leader had been tied up in a sack and hauled off by a tree.

If you've lost count, this basically left me, Drax, and Rocket to kick two dozen asses and get safely out of there. Immediately I sent Rocket out to get the _Milano_, he was a better pilot than I was (but I'd never tell him that) and I knew he'd welcome the opportunity to crash it through the roof. Besides, Drax and I could handle 20 opponents; we'd done as much on the _Dark Aster_, hadn't we?

Only on the _Dark Aster_ I hadn't been pushed to the point of exhaustion. And we'd had Groot with us then, too. And…okay, this was going to be harder than I thought.

Still, I was grateful now for all those training sessions, because I could actually keep up enough to, y'know, _not die._ Sure, I relied more on my blasters than anything else while Drax pounded guys to the floor with his bare hands, and sure, he could take on four or five at once while I could only handle one or two at a time, but mostly I held my own. I was sure I couldn't have done that a few weeks ago, and resolved to keep pushing myself, because clearly it was paying off.

Except it wasn't enough, because when we'd taken down all of them except five, one of them shot me, and I could have seen it coming, could have dodged it, but I didn't. For a second I could do nothing but stand there, staring at the blood trickling from my ribcage, staining my jacket, dripping down to the floor. It didn't hurt. I was too shocked for it to hurt. And judging by the look on Drax's face, he was as surprised as I was.

_I'm shot. What the hell. I just got shot._

Not like it hadn't happened before, but usually I at least saw it coming. And I'd never been hit in the torso before. Leg or arm, yes (and that hurt like a _bitch_, let me tell you), but torso? Never. Not once. Not even when I was part of Yondu's crew and got shot at daily. Maybe two or three times in a particularly busy day.

_What just happened?_

I was still staring at the blood oozing out of my body when another fifteen drug-lord muscle flunkies came out of fucking _nowhere_…and that was when the pain set in. I fell to my knees, my entire body screaming at me, my vision clouding over as the world around me was erased and replaced with white-out, blinding _pain_. A foot swung out of nowhere and connected violently with my head and I fell to the side, too weakened by pain and blood loss to get up and fight back. Dazed, weak, half-formed thoughts drifted through my malfunctioning brain. _This is it. This is how you die. If only you had that walkman with you…_

A pair of tough, callused, _familiar_ hands grabbed me off the floor and I almost cried with relief. Drax. Drax was here. Sure, the pain was blinding and I was probably dying and I couldn't remember my own name, and he was yelling something at me that I couldn't understand, but he was _here_. And if the way he was running was any indication, he had no intention of letting me die. _That's nice of him_, I thought hazily. _Not letting me bleed to death. That's a nice thing to do. He's really nice. Mmm, is that him? He smells nice too._

Okay, delirium was definitely setting in, but at that point I was too tired to care.

The last thing I was aware of before my vision completely blacked out and I stopped caring entirely was a voice shouting in my ear—

_You will not die today, Peter Quill. I will not allow it._

~o~

I could hear Gamora's voice, could hear that she was angry—but who, or what, had made her so upset?—and then I could hear Groot, bellowing in agreement. Then I felt something small and furry against my right side—the side where I'd been hit—and felt a needle slide into my skin. I didn't mind that. Compared to being shot, it really didn't hurt at all. Then I smelled disinfectant, which didn't really cover up the fuel-oil-and-dirt-with-a-hint-of-sex smell that permanently inhabited the _Milano_, and I knew I was home. In the med bay, maybe, but _home_. So not dead, then. That was good.

And then I felt a warm hand around mine, and the other voices seemed to fade away. I relaxed into the touch. I was safe. Whatever had been shot into me from that needle must have been working, because I wasn't really aware of _anything_ anymore and the last thing I felt before melting back into blissful unconsciousness was that hand holding mine. It was the first thing I was aware of when I woke up, too. And as my brain began to slowly re-engage I realized that the hand was much bigger than mine, so I knew it had to belong to Drax.

_Why is Drax holding my hand?_

My eyelids felt like they were made of iron, but slowly, unwillingly, I forced them to open. I _was_ in the medical bay, and Drax _was_ holding my hand, and I could feel a dull ache in my right side. So it hadn't all been a dream, then. But at least I wasn't dead, so overall I was pretty okay with the situation. As soon as Drax saw I was awake he moved much closer to me, staring at me with concern in his eyes.

I wanted to tell him I was fine, wanted to thank him for rescuing me, but when I managed to open my mouth what came out instead was, "Thirsty." He looked _alarmed_. Damn. My voice was probably the least-reassuring thing in the galaxy at that point; I sounded like a bullfrog who smoked _and_ had laryngitis. Not very pleasant. "Sorry," I croaked, and then winced because _ow_, dry throat. Talking _hurt_.

He let go of my hand long enough to grab something from the nightstand. I felt a straw poke through my lips. Oh, _yes._ Water was something I'd taken for granted before now, but at that moment it was like the nectar of the gods. I greedily sucked down what must've been half a quart before Drax made me stop. "You don't want to make yourself sick," he warned me.

"No, I don't." Oh, that was _much_ better. My bullfrog still chain-smoked, but the laryngitis was gone. It hurt a lot less to speak now. "What happened?"

"You were shot. And you almost bled to death. Rocket saved your life." He paused, then added, very reluctantly, "I wanted to call a real medic, but he said there was no time. It is lucky I listened to him; had we tried to take you to a Xandarian medical facility, you would likely be dead by now."

Wait, that didn't make sense. "_Rocket_ saved me? He hates me. Calls me _idiot_ ten times a day."

"That's because you _are_ an idiot." The subject of our conversation stalked into the room, holding what appeared to be a bag of torture devices. "Working yourself to the point of exhaustion, then going and getting yourself _shot_…I swear, Quill, if it hadn't taken so much damn work to save your sorry ass, I'd be tempted to kill you myself. You scared us half to fucking death, you know that? Oh, wait. You _don't_ know because _you_ got to be knocked out the whole damn time, while the rest of us scrambled around trying to save you, you fucking _dumbass_."

"I'm sorry," I said, because really, what else _could_ I say?

Rocket impatiently waved away my apology. "Just don't fuckin' do it again…you, get out of here," he ordered Drax. "I need to check him out and you'll be in the way."

"I will _not_—" Drax began, offended.

Rocket was having none of it. "Drax. You're like a fuckin' mother hen. You'll be in the damn way, now get _out_."

Drax pouted for precisely four seconds, then reluctantly left, sneaking one last look over his shoulder before he slipped through the door. I turned my attention back to Rocket, who was now rooting around in what I could only assume was a medical kit. "How long was I out?"

"Almost three days. I had to get the bullet out—lucky for you, it wasn't in too deep or I would've had to take you to Xandar, and you wouldn't have made it. We _did_ end up taking you there, by the way, because we had to get synthetic blood for you. You lost a shit-ton of blood, and, not that you wouldn't have noticed, but you're the only Terran in, like, a billion miles. Nova assholes wanted you to stay in their hospital, but as soon as you had the blood in you I was like, nope, get him the fuck out of there."

"Why not just leave me there?" I asked as Rocket fished some kind of weird neon flashlight out of the medical kit.

"Because Drax was flipping mega-shit, that's why. Didn't want you out of his sight. Kept saying it was all his fault you were like this and if you weren't where he could keep an eye on you he was going to rip out some spines." Rocket lifted my covers aside and pushed the futuristic flashlight against my bandaged ribcage. "Oh, good. You're not bleeding."

"You needed that thing to tell you that?"

"It's a mini X-rayer, dumbass. The Nova idiots told me to bring you back if you started bleeding internally." He put it away, took out a silvery pager-looking thing, and held it against my chest. "Hold still for a second."

"I'm not going anywhere, believe me."

"Still sore?"

"Well, what do you think?"

"Fair enough." The pager beeped, and Rocket pulled it away. "Okay. Looks pretty good. Still running a bit of a temperature, but they told me that's normal."

"Yeah, I was going to ask, since when are you a medical expert, anyway?" Not that I didn't trust Rocket—well, I trusted him as long as there wasn't a weapon in his hands—but I wasn't entirely sure Dr. Rocket was a _thing_ and I wasn't about to put myself in the hands of a raccoon when there were plenty of qualified doctors within flying distance.

"Cybernetic upgrades and shit. Granted, our biology's kind of different—but you'd be surprised how much humie shit they stuffed in me when they decided to turn me into their walking, talking weapon." Rocket shoved the pager-thing back in the bag and pulled out a long white…_stick_.

"Okay, _what_ is that?" I asked, and I swear if I could have edged away from him, I could.

"Relax. It's for external use only. Just squeeze it and it'll tell me if you've got any infections or terminal diseases."

"Oh, great." I reached out and took hold of the stick. "So, wait. _Drax_ was all up in the Nova Corps' faces about me? Why?"

"He blames himself for you getting shot, like I told you." The white stick beeped and Rocket pulled it away. "And you're infection-free."

"Okay, good, but back up a second. How is this _his_ fault? I'm the dumbass who got myself shot."

"Not that I don't agree with you, but…" Rocket shot a quick look at the door, and then lowered his voice. "You wanna know what I think?"

"I'm pretty sure you'll tell me anyway."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, Peter, you know me so well." He took a second to laugh at his own joke, then went on, "Well, anyway…I think he's got a bit of a thing for you, if you want my opinion."

I almost swallowed my tongue. "Um. _What_?"

"You know…the rest of us were worried, and all that. I mean, not me, but everyone else." I almost laughed at Rocket's attempt to cover his slip-up; he'd as good as told me that he'd been worried about me too. "Gamora was ready to kill Nova Prime when she said we'd have to give you synthetic blood…she was afraid your body would reject it. And Groot, well. I don't have to tell you how scary he is when someone he cares about is on the line."

No, he sure didn't. Then it hit me. "Oh, _fuck_…was that why he kept blocking me from the training room? Because he was afraid I'd over-work myself?"

"Took you that long to figure that out?" Rocket shot me a dirty look. Then it disappeared and he sighed. "Yeah. Well, anyway. He was worried about you too. This corpsman wouldn't let him in to check on you, so he picked up the guy and put him in the laundry can to get him out of the way."

I laughed a little. Ow. Bad decision. "Nice," I said, wincing as my chest throbbed.

"Yeah, it was kind of cute, and don't tell _no one_ I said that…But Drax? Holy _shit_, you should have seen him. I mean, he went _postal_. Forget being nice enough to just stick someone in the laundry can, he'd physically throw them across the room if they tried to keep him from seeing you. At first I thought, well, it's _Drax_. He'd kick the shit out of a toilet if it refused to flush for him. But that wasn't it. I mean, it wasn't just Drax being Drax, it was…well…" He blushed—the fucking raccoon _blushed_, hello there, thing I never thought I'd see in my life—and reluctantly concluded, "He kind of acted like how I acted when Groot blew himself up. You know. Totally fucking _done_. Except instead of just, y'know, shutting down, he beat the shit out of everybody."

"Yeah." I swallowed hard. My throat was dry again, and I had a feeling it wasn't for a biological reason this time. We were in dangerous territory here. "So…you and Groot?" I asked, hoping to deflect the conversation.

Rocket, of course, saw through it. "You tell anyone about that and you're dead," he snapped. "Besides, this ain't about me and him, idiot. It's about Drax potentially having a crush on—" He broke off abruptly, staring hard at me. "Oh. _Oh,_ you sneaky little bastard."

My stomach dropped. "What?" It was too late to play dumb. He _knew_. Of course he knew, he was like thirty thousand times smarter than me. Oh, _shit._

"You got a thing for him too, don't you?" Slowly, a dangerous smile began to form on Rocket's face. "Aw, _yes_. You do. You like him and he doesn't know, does he?"

"Shut up," I hissed. "Rocket, I swear to God, you tell him and—and I'll tell Groot how you feel about him. I mean it."

He backed off immediately. "Okay, _okay._ Jesus. That bad, huh?"

I looked towards the hospital door. "Actually I'm hoping if I just ignore it long enough it'll go away."

"But now you that know he likes you too…" Rocket trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

I was going to tell Rocket something like _yeah, well, Groot's so in love with you it's almost amusing to watch, what's your excuse now?_ But I didn't. Because I knew damn well that the reason Rocket would never tell Groot was the same reason I would never tell Drax. It was too much intimacy for our comfort level. It felt _wrong_, letting ourselves be that vulnerable. Which was really funny considering that, currently, my life was kind of in the hands of someone who had tried to turn me in for money, and he was living on a spaceship with someone who'd sliced his best friend's arms off. But that, somehow, was different. Physical fighting was one thing. Trusting each other as teammates was something else. But falling in love, opening yourself up to having your heart ripped out, sliced up and stomped on? That was _everything._ That was so far beyond _too much_ it was actually incomprehensible.

And Rocket knew it, too. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Damn. And here I thought you were less fucked-up than me." He cocked his head, looking at me curiously. "You know, I should have known, though. Your whole must-starve-self, must-train-to-physical-perfection thing after we got our asses handed to us on Ekos. You took that a lot harder than I'd thought you would. I mean, none of us likes to lose, but the way you acted was just…_scary_. I mean, I was seriously thinking you were going to throw yourself out of the airlock or something."

"Yeah, well, when you grow up without a safety net…well, I don't have to tell _you_, do I?"

"Nope, not even a little bit. I get it. I do…hey, maybe this is a stupid question, but did that blue bastard ever beat you up? Or y'know, do something worse?"

"Yondu never hit me." I paused. "But he never did anything else, either. I mean, he kept me alive, but that was about it."

A long silence followed. I waited for him to say something like _yeah well at least no one ripped you apart and turned you into a freak of nature_, but he didn't. Instead, finally, he said quietly, "So I was wrong about you, then. You know what it's like to not have anyone there to protect you. You know what it's like to have to fend for yourself."

"What, you thought I was some kind of spoiled little Terran prince or something?"

"No, but you're always so…I don't know, you're always dancing and laughing and shit, and doing nice stuff for people. Like getting totally blasted with Gamora that night, just so she'd have a good time. I know you weren't enjoying yourself, especially towards the end there when you were so wasted you couldn't sit up on your own, but you did it for her, I know you did. And like…I don't know. You always seem so _happy_." He looked me over again, then added, "I guess _seem_ is the operative word there."

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm kind of like you, in that way. You seem like a massive jackass but you actually have a good reason to be…and I mean, you can tell me how stupid I am a dozen times, but it doesn't change the fact that you're _here_. You took a bullet out of me, for God's sake. You can't pretend you would have done that for just anyone."

"No, you're right…but I still reserve the right to tear you to pieces if you ever tell _anyone_ we had this conversation," he warned me.

"You don't tell, I won't tell." I looked to the door again. "You really think he…?"

"Peter, I'm telling you, he wouldn't have ripped apart three corpsmen, kicked the door in, and told Nova Prime to go fuck herself if it had been me in there. He was going _batshit_, I'm telling you…I mean, I really thought he was going to kill somebody. If you'd died…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure no one in the galaxy could've stopped him from going on another revenge rampage."

I didn't say anything, so Rocket didn't say anything else either while he finished checking me over. But I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it—Drax, so angry, so _worried_ about me, that he would tear apart heaven and earth just to get into my hospital room and see for himself that I was alive. Drax, demanding that Rocket bring me home. Drax holding my hand, staying with me while I recovered, until Rocket kicked him out of the room. _Mother-hen_, he'd called Drax. Now it almost made sense, but…still…

No. It was absurd. How could a man like Drax fall for someone like me?

But Rocket tended to be right about a lot of stuff, and I couldn't just ignore this new information. This was dangerous. This was a thousand times more dangerous than it had been when I'd just had a little crush on Drax. If Drax liked me too—well, that was about the worst thing that could possibly happen.

Because Drax never kept anything to himself. He would tell me. Inevitably, it would happen.

And when he did…I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to turn him down.


	7. Chapter 6

**I told you I suck at naming/coming up with planets…the vacation spot they go to in this chapter is (and I'm totally 100% serious here) the candyland seen in Katy Perry's "California Gurls" music video. It just seemed like the right place for the fluff to happen…and, yes, that is a promise, there is some serious fluff on the way. ;)**

**Super-crazy amounts of love and thanks to everyone who has followed/favorited and/or reviewed. Eremija, I hadn't planned on doing a Drax POV chapter, but I'll definitely think about it. Even if I don't, though, you'll still get to see inside his head a bit, don't worry—we all know Drax can't keep anything to himself! :P **

It only took a week for me to be healed enough for the Nova Corps physician to declare me ready for action again, but my teammates, as it turned out, weren't so sure. The first morning after I slept in my own bed again, I went up into the cockpit, ready to fly again, only to find that Rocket had punched in some unfamiliar coordinates. "Gamora already find a new whorehouse for us to burn to the ground? Actually, I shouldn't even have to ask, she's had a whole week, after all."

Rocket shook his head. "Wasn't Gamora. Drax told me to set course…I know where it is though. Groot loves this place. I can't think why the hell we'd have to go here for a mission, but…" He shrugged and hopped out of the pilot chair. "C'mon. I want breakfast, and you're the only one who knows how to make muffins."

We were in the air all day. When we started to land I rushed to the window and saw…_pink_. Lots and lots of pink. "Where the hell are we?" I asked as I watched fluffy pink clouds drift past the window.

"We are landing on Candyfornia." Gamora didn't even look up from the weapon she was cleaning.

"Okay, that better not be what it sounds like."

"It's _exactly_ what it sounds like," Rocket informed me. "Practically everything on the planet's made out of candy. I told you, it's one of Groot's favorite places in the galaxy. I can only take so much of it but I'm pretty sure if I told him we were staying permanently, he'd up and celebrate."

"I am Groot," Groot agreed, a huge smile on his face.

"Okay, but what are we doing here?" I looked to Drax. "You were the one who wanted Rocket to put in these coordinates, right? Did you get, like, a distress call from this place or something?"

He shook his head. "No, I did not."

"Then why are we going here? We've got plenty of food in the hold, you guys could've told me if you needed more supplies—"

"That is not why we are stopping." Drax stood up and joined me at the window. I automatically tensed when he came so close to me. "The doctor from the Nova Corps told me it would be best if you could take some time to rest, to allow yourself to heal mentally and emotionally as you allowed your body to heal physically."

"So wait a minute." I looked around at my team. "You're telling me you just…decided this? Without even asking me if it was what I wanted?"

The others looked at each other, clearly plotting against me. But Drax looked at me, with this heartbreaking mixture of concern and sympathy, and that was more than I could take. "You need the rest," he told me quietly.

"Oh, great. Thanks for deciding that for me. Couldn't ask for better friends. Way to make a guy feel better," I snapped. I shouldn't have been so angry—after all, they were just trying to help. But I felt like I'd been stabbed in the back. Not only did they no longer see me as a leader—they never would have pulled something like this on a captain like Yondu, who actually had the respect of his crew—but they saw me as some poor, helpless little thing they had to parent, instead of someone they could trust. And that—oh, God. That _hurt_.

Gamora and Drax exchanged furtive, almost guilty looks. But Rocket threw down the gun he was putting together and glared at me. "Don't be an idiot, Quill. We're trying to do something nice for you. Stop acting like we're about to put you in the loony bin. And stop assuming every time someone tries to do something nice for you, they're secretly calling you an idiot. Trust me, nobody on this ship has any grasp on subtlety, and yes, I'm including myself in that. If we're pissed at you, you'll know. And if we think you're not doing right by us, we will _fucking tell you_. Okay? Now go pack up some shit, we've rented a place to stay here."

I almost fell over. "_What_? How long are we staying?"

"Two weeks, I think. Don't give me that look. The galaxy can save its own ass for a couple of days." Rocket narrowed his eyes at me until finally, hands up in defeat, I started to back out of the room. "Good. Now get that oh-god-we're-all-gonna-die look off your face. This place is seriously amazing. You're gonna love it. I promise."

~o~

Rocket, as I was quickly finding out, always kept his promises.

Candyfornia was _beautiful_. The sky was perfect blue and filled with fluffy pink cotton-candy clouds. From where we'd docked I could see a beach with perfect white sand—and I quickly realized that wasn't sand, it was pure sugar. There were lollipop trees and peppermint-stick trees, skyscrapers made out of pancakes, gingerbread vacation houses lining the beach. The entire place was so gorgeous it didn't seem _real._ It was too pretty to be real.

I turned to Rocket, who was acting as if this was as normal as going to a convenience store, and asked, "You've been here before? _Seriously_?" He nodded. "Is this, like, an illusion, or are we actually on Sugar Planet?"

"This entire place is made of actual, self-regenerating candy. It's a humanoid-engineered planet, so there's no environmental fallout from eating this stuff. It's specifically made as a tourist trap." Rocket looked up at me, and laughed when he saw how dazed I was. "Yeah. It's pretty, isn't it? I thought it was some kind of hallucination the first time I saw it. Groot and I crash-landed…"

He trailed off and looked over at Groot, who was happily rolling around in a bank of cotton candy. He looked…and I swear there's no other way to word this…totally, _ridiculously_ in love. And okay, maybe this was a bad reaction, but it was so fucking cute. Maybe the idea of a talking raccoon loving all up on a 10-foot-tall tree-man should have been at least a little unsettling, but honestly, I couldn't see a damn thing wrong with it. Still, I couldn't resist teasing him, just a bit. I leaned down and whispered, "Hey, loverboy…you keep looking at him like that, and I won't have to tell anyone your little secret. They can see for themselves."

Rocket looked up, and for a second he actually looked pissed—I prepared to take evasive action—but then his face split into a mischievous, _dangerous_ smile. "Oh, you're gonna pay for that…" He lunged at me, aiming a tiny fist at my stomach. I dodged, laughing, and then gasped for breath when I found myself on my back in a cotton candy bank. I flipped him off of me, only to get smacked in the face with a huge ball of candy. I looked up to see Groot standing over me, grinning like a child, another candy weapon in his hands.

"Oh, it's on!" I jumped to my feet and reached into the bank, ripping out a chunk of candy to use as ammunition. For a minute the three of us wrestled in the cotton candy bank, shoving the pink fluffy stuff in each other's faces and pushing each other down into piles of it. We were really getting into it when I heard Gamora clear her throat behind us. All three of us stopped and turned around to face her, wearing guilty looks like children who had just been caught misbehaving.

She faced us down, sternly folding her arms. "Do I need to remind you that we are known through the galaxy as _heroes_? That we are supposed to be strong, dignified warriors? And as I'm sure you're well-aware, warriors _never_ fight in cotton candy piles…" Suddenly, her stern look gave way to a huge, childish grin, as she reached over and grabbed a fallen branch from a peppermint-stick tree. "…without proper weapons," she finished, and then she launched herself into the fight, batting away the balls of cotton candy that Rocket hurled at her and laughing like this was the most fun she'd had in…well, ever.

For a few amazing moments that was just how it was, the four of us fighting in an overgrown, fluffy bank of cotton candy, getting sticky and winding up with mouthfuls of the stuff. And then I felt a pair of strong arms gently wrap around me, heard Rocket's voice cry out _yeah, Drax, get him_, and then before I could comprehend what was happening I got a faceful of soft white goo mixed with something soft and crumbly that I knew for a fact was not cotton candy.

Rocket, for whatever reason, had just shoved an entire cake into my face. And Drax, damn him, had held me in place while Rocket did it. "Hey," I protested through a faceful of cake. I tried to squirm away—needless to say, it was pointless. "I thought you were on my side."

Drax didn't let go. He wasn't holding me tight enough that I couldn't get away if I _really_ wanted to, but I'd definitely have to put up a fight. "I was unaware that we were choosing sides. I thought this playful combat was meant to be a chaotic free-for-all."

"Well, yeah, but—" I struggled again, but he only tightened his grip. I shook my head, causing more of the cake to slide off. "Rocket, as soon as Drax lets me go I'm going to get you for that."

Rocket just laughed. I blinked enough cake out of my eyes in time to see him crawling up to perch on Groot's shoulder, well out of my reach. "Oh, I'd love to see you try."

Drax was still holding onto me and I found, much to my surprise, that I didn't mind. He turned me around so we were face-to-face, and while he kept one arm tightly around my waist, he used his other hand to brush cake and frosting from my eyes. "I am sorry," he said softly, and it took me a second, but in a flash I realized _oh, he's not apologizing for the cake in the face._

I wanted to say _thank you_. I wanted to tell him I hadn't felt this happy, this _relaxed_, in a long time. I wanted to tell him he was right, this was just what I needed, he could make me stay for two weeks if he wanted and I wouldn't put up a fight. More than anything I wanted to tell him to keep holding me, because his arm felt so good and so _right_ curled around my waist like that, and when he held me like this I felt small and safe and anchored, and totally aware that this was right where I was supposed to be.

I couldn't say any of that, of course. So I just swallowed (only after licking the remaining frosting off my lips, of course) and said, "It's okay."

He didn't say anything back…mainly, I think, because Gamora chose that moment to nail him with her peppermint stick, and he became concerned with retaliating by hitting her with ball after ball of cotton candy. But when he let me go I felt unsettled. Like I'd lost something incredible, something that was beyond precious, and I couldn't relax again until I had it back.

~o~

We would be staying in a little gingerbread cottage right on the water. It was one of the smaller places, but it was so pretty. The outside walls were frosted white, and the roof was made of pastel Necco wafers. The inside, thank God, was actually _not_ made of candy. If it had been, I might've worried about a Willy Wonka chocolate-house situation—you know, my bed melting from my body heat or something equally stupid. But everything inside was non-edible, so I didn't worry about that.

But my room—especially my soft, fluffy, _huge_ bed—was _amazing_. Seriously, that mattress might not have been made of actual marshmallows, but it sure as hell felt like it. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was _out_. I didn't even have time to think about how hard it was going to be to go back to sleeping on a narrow, not-so-soft bunk after sleeping on that thing.

And I probably would have slept through the night, had I not felt someone jump on my bed. "Whatsgoingon?" I mumbled as I pushed myself upright. "Somethin' wrong?" In the dim light I could just make out Gamora's shape at the foot of my bed.

"I was exploring earlier and I found a pond that _fizzes_ when you touch it," she explained, so excited she could barely keep her voice low. "Do you want to see it?"

Damn. I had to hand it to her, she knew how to bring out my inner five-year-old. I was instantly wide-awake. "Yes. _Yes_. Hold on, just let me—" I stumbled out of bed and grabbed the nearest t-shirt. "Swimming. In a fizzy pond. Let's do this thing."

We ran down the sidewalk, barefoot, giggling like a couple of teenagers. And as always I had to take a moment to silently marvel at the fact that she could do this, that she could embrace her new life so easily. I'd expected an uphill battle with her. Long, sleepless nights. Terrible dreams that would make her scream in her sleep. Watching her fight her Thanos-installed instincts and lose, inevitably hurting one of us. Pushing us away instead of letting us help her. Instead, she'd jumped headfirst into _oh-my-God-I'm-free_ mode, and taken full advantage of all the things she could do now that she couldn't before…like, you know, have fun without worrying she'd be punished for "wasting time."

Right near our house on the beach there were chocolate-tree woods, through which ran a path that, according to Rocket, led into town. But Gamora led me off the path and into a clearing that was even more breathtakingly pretty than the beach: a sparkling pale-green pond, surrounded by dark-green powdered sugar dirt, around which lay patches of cotton candy grass. The trees here were varying shades, from light mint green to bright teal, and with the moon just overhead the entire place had a mysterious, almost magical feel to it.

I recognized what made the water fizz almost immediately. "Oh my God. It's actually a soda-pop pond." I scooped up a handful of the liquid and tasted it. "Yep. this is Mountain Dew, not water."

"What is that? Is it dangerous?"

"Well, don't drink it unless you want an energy buzz…but it's totally safe to swim in it, if you want to." Then I thought of something. "Hey, how much electronic shit is in you, anyway? Can you get it wet? Will this stuff erode it?" I gestured to the water.

She shook her head. "I'm near-indestructible, Peter. My implants were made to put me through the toughest of battles. They won't be broken down by some kind of sugary beverage."

"Well, then. Guess that's that." I pulled my shirt off and cannonballed into the pond. The soda water fizzed all over my body, giving me an electrified, just-stuck-my-finger-in-a-light-socket kind of feeling. It was definitely a good feeling, if a little strange.

When I came up for air, Gamora was in the pond as well. "It's an odd feeling," she commented. "I think I like it, though."

"Me too. It's an adrenaline rush, isn't it?" I splashed at the surface of the Mountain Dew, sending off little bubbling waves. "It's like…_intense_. Electric, kind of. Man, can you imagine if we brought back a big tub of this stuff and dipped in it every time we went out to capture somebody or save some planet somewhere? It's better than a cold shower. We'd never, _ever_ lose. We'd be too pumped up on this shit."

Gamora laughed and splashed me. I felt my skin tingle where the soda landed. "You'd just drink the whole thing and get a sugar rush."

"Well, yeah. But we'd still kick ass." I splashed her back, and it started a water (or soda) fight that seemed to last for hours, until we were both out of breath and had to lie down in a patch of grass to rest and dry off. While we were lying there I asked if she was happy with us, and she said yes, sounding as though the question had surprised her. "Is there anything I can do for you that I'm not already…trying to do?" I pressed.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't for her to roll over on her side, reach over and put her hand on my arm, and say softly, "Well, you could try taking better care of yourself."

"Wait, what?" I sat up, and she followed. "No, I didn't mean—"

"I know exactly what you meant. This is my answer." Her hand was still on my arm, and I couldn't work out if I liked that or not, especially in this context. "I'm sure Rocket has already told you how badly it frightened all of us when you refused to feed yourself—"

"Oh my God, could everyone please just _let that go_?" I groaned. "Sorry, Gamora, but I'm done apologizing for that. We'd just lost, it was my fault, I was _upset_—"

"—and don't misunderstand me, Peter, you had every right to be upset, but it was _not_ your fault and you did _not_ need to punish yourself for it." She hesitated, and then added, "When I was growing up with Thanos, he would punish me harshly for the most minor offenses. Nebula got it too, much more frequently than I did. He would send us out to capture his enemies from the time we were fourteen or so…if we failed, if we did not bring him a body, he would restrict our food supply until we made amends for our mistakes. When you locked yourself up that day, and wouldn't let us care for you…" Her voice broke. I felt _awful_. "I spent most of my childhood striving to escape such treatment. I couldn't believe anyone would willingly do it to themselves."

Now I felt like the single most terrible person on the planet. "Gamora, I—"

"Quiet. I'm not done." She slid her hand down my arm until our hands were linked. I decided then that even with the current and very heavy topic of conversation, I liked this. I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. "I am not skilled in the area of demonstrating affection. You are aware of this. Thanos, as I'm sure you can imagine, did not favor friendship or intimacy. But I believe I have made my opinion of you quite clear."

"Before or after you beat me up, got me arrested, and called me the biggest idiot in the galaxy?" I teased her.

She rolled her eyes. "Before or after you tried to seduce me, bragged about what a hero you were, and let Ronan get away with the most dangerous weapon in the galaxy?" she shot back.

"Oh, you mean after I saved your life twice? You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh, you mean after I persuaded Rocket not to turn you in to Yondu by offering him a cut of the money I would've gotten for the stone?" she mocked me. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Hey, I had just as much a hand in that as you did, _princess_."

She swatted my arm and said, imitating Drax's low growl, "I am _not_ a princess!"

By that time we were both laughing too hard to say anything else. It felt good to have a best friend who wasn't, y'know, threatening to eat me every five minutes. And the thing is, she was right. She _had_ made her opinion of me pretty clear. I knew that Gamora didn't trust everyone she met. She wouldn't have "engaged in recreational drinking" or jumped into a Mountain Dew pool with anyone she didn't like. Still, I had to ask. "So…does this mean I'm forgiven, then?"

"For what?"

"For…you know…trying to get in your pants when we first met."

Suddenly her face turned serious again. "Oh, that's nothing compared to what you've been doing to yourself lately."

Shit. "Gamora, come on. You know you guys were way too easy on me when I fucked up on Ekos—"

"We _all_ fucked up on Ekos, Peter. You didn't deserve the blame for that. And you certainly didn't need to punish yourself as harshly as you did." Her expression softened. "When will you understand? We love you. Well, Rocket wouldn't confess to it under torture, but he _does_. We all do. And it hurt us to see you hurt yourself."

I bit my lip as a thought briefly flashed through my mind: the moment of total frozen _terror_ I'd experienced when I'd thought Drax was self-harming. My stomach twisted at the memory. And yeah, what he'd been doing had actually been a cultural thing, not a punishment thing, but it still stung, seeing all that blood on his arms…okay, _okay._ I got it. I felt slightly nauseous now, but I got it. "I'm sorry…no, let me finish. I know you don't want another apology. It's not like that. Just let me tell you…" I explained my interaction with Drax, how I'd thought he was hurting himself when he was making those decorative markings. "Even now that I know nothing was wrong it still hurts, thinking about it," I finished. "And…God, I'm sorry. I mean I still think I screwed up. I still don't think I deserved your forgiveness for messing up that bad, but…but I'm sorry I put you through that. You know. Starving myself, the whole thing."

Gamora reached around behind me, not yet making contact, and I could see in the dim light that her other arm was stretching towards me as well. She was offering me a hug. Okay, let me just say, if you'd told me this time six months ago that Gamora was going to sit there, arms out, and offer _me_ comfort, that _she_ would be trying to reassure _me_—Gamora, the tortured assassin, the girl who'd lost so much, and here she was holding her arms out to me, offering to hold me, to _comfort_ me, because _I'd_ fucked up beyond all repair and she wanted _me_ to feel better. I couldn't wrap my head around that for a second. "Why?" I asked, partly stalling for time, partly because I really wanted to know.

Her arms closed around me. "Because I know what it's like. Come here."

Almost involuntarily I rested my head on her shoulder. She smelled like Mountain Dew, and for some reason I found that funny. She felt me laughing and squeezed me tighter. I let my arms lock around her waist. "I can't believe you actually give a shit about me," I told her. "I really can't."

"And when you say things like that, Peter, _that's _what makes us worry about you." Her grip on me tightened, and for a second I thought she was trying to remind herself that, yes, I was there and no, I had not starved to death, but the real reason became clear a moment later when she said, very carefully, "I know you have feelings for Drax." Panic set in. I tried to pull away, but she held on tight. "Don't. _Don't._ It's all right. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Rocket already knows," I muttered. My face was bright-red, hot from embarrassment. I tried to soothe the burning skin against her cool shoulder.

"And did he think any less of you for it?" Gamora waited for an answer, and when I didn't give one, she went on, "No, because he's in love with Groot and we can all see it." I stopped fighting to get away, and she relaxed her grip on me a little. With one hand she gently rubbed my back as she continued, "And in case you didn't know, Drax has feelings for you too."

"I don't care. I'm not telling him."

"Why not? No, don't answer that. I already know." She held me at arm's length and made me look her in the eye. "You are afraid that being in love, _admitting_ you're in love, makes you weak. And it doesn't. You're afraid because you don't want him to see you vulnerable—but he already _has_, don't you see? He's seen you at your worst. He's seen you punishing yourself, seen you get shot, seen you hold the Infinity Stone and nearly be ripped apart from it—and he _still_ wants you."

"You don't know that—"

"Yes, I do. You should have seen what he was like when you were shot—he nearly killed half the Nova Corps medics trying to get to you. He flat-out refused to leave your side until we were sure you'd make it. He would talk to you when he thought none of us could hear him. Once I walked in just as he was vowing to protect you with his life, and I asked if he really thought you would let him do that. I told him it wasn't likely you'd be so open to the thought of someone protecting you…I know from experience how odd it feels, to suddenly be looked after when you've been left to defend yourself your whole life, I knew you'd be resistant to the idea…and he said you meant too much to him to go through this again—watching you die, that is. He was afraid of losing you, he said as much—and you know that Drax never says anything he doesn't mean."

My face heated up again. "Gamora, come on. What the hell could he possibly see in me? He called me an imbecile when we first met, you remember that?"

"May I remind you we were all running for our lives and you went back to retrieve a music player?" She paused briefly, then added, "But I understand now why you did."

I bit my lip again, mentally going over the events of that day. "I think that was the moment I should've realized I wanted him. Because hearing you call us the biggest idiots in the galaxy I kind of thought _okay, we pretty much deserve that_. But when he called me an imbecile I…I don't know. It _hurt_. Like, in a way it shouldn't have."

She was quiet for a long time. Finally she let me go and said, "You shouldn't keep your feelings for him a secret."

"I don't have much of a choice."

"Oh, don't you? Tell me, who exactly is silencing you?" When I didn't answer, she nodded and said firmly, "That's what I thought. Don't try to fool me, Peter. I know exactly why you won't tell him. You're _afraid_." I'm pretty sure I looked like I was about to puke, which is probably why she took one look at my face and immediately softened her tone. "I understand why you fear him…but I promise you, you can trust him. He won't break your heart, and if he does…well, I'll take care of that for you."

"What would you think of me," I asked, choosing my words carefully, "if I told you I'm more afraid of hurting him than I am of him hurting me?"

"I'd say you can't do anything that would make him stop loving you. I may not have experienced it myself—never much wanted to, really—but I know romantic love when I see it. Drax speaks of you the way Thanos speaks of Death."

"And that isn't creepy at all," I muttered.

She laughed and shook her head. "All right, that wasn't the best example…he looks at you the way Ronan used to look at Nebula. Is that better?"

I made a face. "Yeah, uh, feel free to stop comparing the man I love to a couple of genocidal lunatics any time now."

Her eyes lit up. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said—oh." I'd just admitted, out loud, that I was in love with him. Not just a crush, not a physical attraction that would go away. In love. No use denying it now. I took a deep breath. "I am definitely, _seriously_ falling hard for him. There. I said it, are you happy now?"

"I'll be happier when you tell him." She saw the panicked look on my face and immediately backtracked. "Wait, wait. How about this? I won't ask you again to tell him how you feel…but only if you don't reject him if he tells you first."

Oh, God. That was almost worse. The thought of Drax calmly telling me he loved me, in that forward, unashamed way of his, made my heart speed up. "I—I don't know—"

"Please. _Please,_ Peter. Don't be afraid of him. Drax cares about you. We can all see that." She reached for my hand again and I held onto it like a lifeline. "He loves you. He wants to protect you. No one will think you're weak if you let him."

I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. She could probably hear me loud and clear, from the death grip I had on her hand. Because all I could think about was that she might be right. Maybe I could have Drax, if I had the courage to go and get him. Maybe it really was safe to let myself fall in love with him.

The only problem was that I still wasn't sure I could.


	8. Chapter 7

**So. I'm nervous as hell about this one, because the ending? Yeah, that was **_**so**_** not supposed to happen yet. Drax made me, you guys. He **_**made**_** me do it. You'll see what I'm talking about. ;)**

If I had any doubts at all about Gamora and Rocket's assertions that Drax did in fact have feelings for me, they were blown to bits the next day.

I was sitting on the porch swing with Groot, watching Rocket tinker with one of his guns (and why he felt the need to do this on the front porch of our vacation house was so far beyond me I didn't even try to puzzle it out) when Drax came thundering out the front door. He did not pass go, did not stop to collect $200. He planted himself right in front of me, held out a hand, and said, "I would like you to accompany me on a walk along the beach. Will you?"

For a second I was too surprised to say or do anything, because wow, that was fast. And forward. I mean, he hadn't said "let's date" or whatever his equivalent to that was, but he sounded pretty sure of himself. I almost panicked, thinking Gamora or Rocket had spilled the beans to him, but I quickly reminded myself that even if they had, Drax had probably already figured it out on his own. He might not get metaphors, but he wasn't an idiot and he sure as hell wasn't oblivious to other people's feelings. If I'd slipped up once in his presence—and I knew I had—he could've easily worked out that I was crushing hard on him.

"Okay," I said, because I couldn't think of any better way to react.

He took my hand and pulled me up off the swing. I half-expected him to hold onto me as we walked away. He didn't, and I was thankful for that, because I knew if we did too much too fast I was going to flip out on him again. And regardless of how I felt, he deserved better than that.

The beach was pretty at this time of day. Candyfornia was a tourist trap, but apparently we were in the off-season, because there were only a handful of other people there on the beach with us. So we had an almost unimpaired view of perfect pale sand trailing off into clear turquoise water and fluffy pale-pink clouds, all of it too beautiful to be real. "I keep thinking that this whole place is one big hallucination," I said without thinking, and then remembered who I was talking to. "I mean, it isn't, I know it isn't…it just seems too pretty to actually be here."

"It's a manufactured, controlled environment," Drax reminded me.

"I know, I know. It's just that I don't want to leave," I admitted. "I mean, I know we _have_ to. And I know I'll get tired of this place eventually. But it's…nice, I guess. Not having to think about who we have to save or capture next. Not having to plan stuff out and not having to try and convince Rocket that 'blow the bastard up' is not the best course of action. It's so _peaceful_ here. I mean, it _is_ kind of weird being on a candy planet. But it's still a lot nicer than I thought it'd be."

Drax looked very pleased with himself. "I knew this would be good for you."

"Yeah, I know. You were right. I'm sorry, I just…I don't like being told what to do. You've probably figured that out." I took an uncomfortable step away from him, but I wasn't surprised at all when he followed. "I just would've liked it if you'd maybe, I don't know, asked first."

"Next time I will be sure to consult you. In my defense, however, I ought to state that I was certain you would not have consented to stop here, had I presented you with the idea."

Okay, he had me there. "Still, y'know. Common courtesy and all that."

We reached the border where the beach led into the chocolate forest and stopped. Drax turned to me and asked, "Would it be all right with you if we were to stop and rest here?"

"Sure." We sat down in the sand together, and I was careful to keep a good, twelve-inch cushion of space between us. I was okay with being out here with him—maybe—but I had my limits. "So I kind of owe you, like, twenty apologies."

"I was not aware that you owed me anything." He scooted a little closer to me and watched, possibly seeing if I was going to move away. I didn't. So he went on, "As far as I know, you are not in any way indebted to me."

"Um, really? Because last I checked you saved my life, you kept watch over me when I was in the Nova Corps medical facility, you took care of my sorry ass when I got falling-down drunk with Gamora, you got me to eat when I totally shut down after the whole thing with Ekos—and, oh yeah, you brought me here for a break, even though I was a total asshole about it. So, um, I'm a little confused as to where the whole 'not owing you' part comes in."

He smiled and edged a little closer. "What do you think you owe me, then?"

"I don't know. A freaking lot." I should have moved away. I didn't. "You know, I never did thank you for saving my life. Did I? I don't think I did. So…thanks. For, y'know. Not letting me die and all. That was nice of you." _Oh you miserable idiot. You sound like such a dumbfuck. If he liked you before he won't now._

But he didn't roll his eyes or push me away. Instead he reached over and gently laid his hand on my shoulder. I could feel my cheeks heating up at the contact, but I didn't push him away. "You would have done the same, had it been me." It was a statement, not a question. He knew that I would never have left him behind—

Except maybe I would've. "Yeah, well, I would've tried. Can't exactly carry you out like you did for me, could I?"

"Perhaps not, but you would have found a way…you did with Gamora, after all."

Oh. Right. Rocket must've told him about that. I stared hard at the sand, purposefully avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, well…thanks, anyway. For getting me out of there."

"I couldn't let you die." Suddenly there was something in his voice that compelled me to look at him—and when I did, I couldn't look away. There was something in his eyes, some raw, naked emotion—so typical, Drax never hid anything, after all—that made me realize _holy fuck Gamora and Rocket were right._

Drax wanted me.

Not just a little bit. Not, like, _hmm I'd hit that._

I mean he really, _really_ wanted me.

My entire body felt tingly, like I'd been submerged in the Mountain Dew pond. Drax was moving closer…a lot closer…oh my God, he was going to kiss me. I turned my head away, both to avoid a kiss and to hide the fact that I was blushing so hard I looked like the ass-end of a lobster, and Drax took the hint and moved respectfully away. I didn't have to look up to know that he was disappointed.

"I don't—I'm not—ready," I tried to explain, grabbing and releasing fistfuls of sand just for the sake of doing something with my hands. "I just—you're—I'm not. I can't."

"Peter." His voice was softer than usual, somehow. Less intense. I felt safe enough to look back up at him, and I was surprised to see concern in his face. "I will not force you to do anything you don't want to do." He paused, letting that sink in, and then added, "But it would cause me great pain to lose your friendship. If I have offended you—"

"You haven't," I quickly cut him off. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's me. I'm the idiot here, not you."

He shook his head firmly. "You are not an idiot. I should have known better than to believe you would be able to accept my affections."

"No, you don't understand." I sucked in a deep breath. "I like you." _There, it's out. Now just don't pass out, and you'll be good._ "I really like you. I just…" I trailed off. How could I put it into words, the way I felt around him? Like my world would completely fall to pieces if he left me alone, even for a second, but at the same time I could feel myself breaking apart when he was this close to me? He wouldn't understand that. With Drax it was simple: either you love me or you don't. There was no _I can't explain_ option.

Drax patiently waited for me to explain myself. When it became clear that wasn't going to happen, he asked me, straight-out as always, "Would you ever consider accepting my offer of courtship?"

My heart began to pound so hard I was afraid it would break out of my ribcage. This was really, _really_ dangerous territory here. Because for a second I was tempted to throw it all out the window. Fall into his arms and let him do whatever the hell he wanted with me. Totally give into him, damn the consequences, let him have me, let him claim me, let myself have everything I'd been craving ever since I'd met him. Who cared if I could get hurt? Who cared if I eventually hurt him? We could have _now_, we could just be together and enjoy it while it lasted. That was good enough, wasn't it?

I tried to remember how to breathe, how to form words. What I wanted to say was _yes, God, yes, you idiot, I've been in love with you since you asked me why you'd put your finger on Ronan's throat. I didn't know it but I fell so fucking hard for you that night, and all I want right now is to throw myself at you and kiss the breath out of you, that's all I want, just give me some time to sort out the crazy clusterfuck that is my brain and you can have me, all of me, just let me have a minute to think…_

What came out instead was, "I don't know." His face fell. Poor guy looked absolutely crushed. Oh, I knew how that felt. "Wait, wait, _wait_, no," I backtracked quickly. "Let me restate that, okay? I want to. I do. It's just…it's new for me, okay? I've never…" _Been in love._ "…liked someone the way I like you. And I don't know how to…I mean I just, I need…I need some time to get used to it." There. That was as close as I was going to get to telling him the real issue. "Do you think we could just—be friends? Until I figure it out?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "I do not wish to force you to do anything you are not prepared to do. If friendship is all you desire from me now, I will do my best to provide it. And I will not touch you until you are ready." The usual intense look came back into his eyes, and he leaned in closer. Before I could yelp my objections—or even work out if I _had_ any objections—his breath was caressing my ear, and I could hear his voice, a deep, low growl that made me turn to jelly: "But you should know something about me, Star-Lord. I do _not_ surrender easily."

And, okay. _That._ That was…oh my God. Before I could catch my breath, or figure out just what it was about calling me _Star-Lord_ instead of using my given name that made me so aroused I wanted to jump him right there in the sand, he'd stood up and shot me an expectant look that made it clear I was supposed to follow him. I slowly pulled myself up, my head spinning and my knees shaking like Jell-o, and staggered along the beach with him, trying to silently will away the little—um, _problem_—that had popped up when he'd growled into my ear.

_Destroyer: 100. Star-Lord: 0._

~o~

We spent most of the daylight hours together as a team. Much to my delight, Candyfornia had a lot of Terran goods and hosted a lot of Terran entertainments, so we did stuff like mini-golf (which I sucked at), bowling (which Drax sucked at), ping-pong (which Rocket sucked at) and foosball (which Groot sucked at; to no one's surprise, Gamora did not suck at anything). We'd have dinner together, usually a barbecue on the beach or, my personal favorite, pizza at my favorite Terra-themed cafe. Then we'd all go off and do our own thing in the evening. Gamora would coax Rocket into going into the ocean. Groot wandered in the forest a lot. Drax…well, I'll get to that in a minute.

I don't think I've ever felt happier than I did on that vacation. I could do pretty much whatever I wanted. If I wanted to sleep until ten in the morning, I could—and I did. If I wanted to sneak out and eat my breakfast on the beach while the sun rose, I could—and I did, almost every day, before crawling back into bed to have a morning nap. If I wanted to go swimming in the Mountain Dew pond with Gamora at two AM, I could—and I did. I could take long naps, dance to my mixtapes in my very spacious bedroom whenever I wanted, swim in the ocean, sleep on the porch swing if I felt like it, eat chocolate flowers and handfuls of cotton candy as I walked along the beach with Drax. There were no deadlines, no relics to collect, no bad guys to run away from, no leaders to negotiate with. The longer we stayed, the less I wanted to leave.

Sometimes we'd explore together. Gamora's favorite place was the beach. She'd stay there all day if left unchecked—and sunburns, it seemed, were among the few things she was _not_ immune to. Rocket, on the other hand, loved to push me into piles of marshmallow goo—my least-favorite candy _ever_—and laughing hysterically while I tried to pull handfuls of the stuff out of my hair and cloths. Sometimes I'd pull him in with me and we'd awkwardly wrestle there until Groot or Drax inevitably broke us up. Sometimes I'd tease Gamora just to make her push me into a soda-pop pond or lake, until she caught on and automatically pushed me in whenever we saw one.

And then there was Drax. I knew by now that there was no hiding from it: whether I wanted to be or not, I was falling hard for him. You'd think this would make it hard to be alone with him, but every evening when we all split up, Drax and I would go off somewhere together, and I always enjoyed myself. Some nights we'd just go walk along the beach, sometimes talking and sometimes just silently enjoying each other's company. Some nights we'd go to the boardwalk, where he willingly rode the ferris wheel with me even though I knew he had to be sick of it after the third time.

One night I showed him the Mountain Dew pond. "This is a beautiful place," he told me when he saw it. "I can see why you value it so much."

"Isn't it pretty?" I stood up and pulled off my shirt. "Jump in with me. You'll love the way the water makes your skin tingle, trust me."

He was hesitant at first, but after I explained to him that 1) it was safe to drink and 2) I'd been swimming in it for a week now and nothing bad had happened, he agreed to give it a try. We had our swim, and he loved it. When we met back up with the team later, he wouldn't shut up about how exhilarating it was to swim in a carbonated substance. I know it drove Rocket nuts, but I didn't care. He was _happy_. That was all I cared about.

The next evening he showed me a pretty little garden he'd found, and we sat in the gazebo (which was actually a giant hollowed-out cupcake) and reminisced about the night we'd met and our first mission together. Then he led me over to the boardwalk, where we bought ice cream. I sat there and watched him methodically eat his sundae from the top down, starting with the cherry and slowly working his way down to the ice cream. I was so busy watching him I almost forgot to eat my popsicle, until I realized it was starting to melt.

It's funny—you'd think that knowing for a fact that he wanted me, and the fact that he'd all but told me he intended to win me over, would put me even more on edge than I'd been before. But I'd expected him to aggressively chase off anyone who tried to talk to me, make flirtatious comments that, with Drax's way of speaking, would probably have turned into out-and-out sexual comments, and shower me with unwanted attention and gifts, and I was pleasantly surprised when he took a different route instead. He was just…_there_, being my friend like I'd asked, just letting me relax with him. And if this was his way of trying to win me over…well, it was working.

I'd never felt so relaxed, so _safe_, with anyone else. Not even Gamora. Which was probably why, one warm, breezy night when we were sitting on top of a cupcake hill watching a beautiful sunset, I told him something that I couldn't even tell her. We'd been talking about what our lives had been like pre-Ronan. He'd been a good father. He didn't have to tell me, outright, "hey, I was a great dad," it just revealed itself in the stories he told me. He'd taken his daughter out to the beach every weekend in the summer, just because her favorite thing to do was swim in the ocean. "I wish I'd taken her here," he told me. "But I was unaware of this planet's existence at the time."

"I bet she'd have loved it. God knows I do." I looked out over the water. "Do you ever dream about them?" I asked suddenly. "Your family, I mean. Do you ever think about what it would be like if they were here? Would they be proud of you?" I knew I was probably digging myself into a deep hole, but I couldn't stop the questions as they poured out. "If you had one more chance to see them, do you know what you'd say to them?"

He turned to look at me, surprised. "I…do not know the answers to some of your questions." He thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I do see them in my dreams, often with a message of comfort…I like to think this is their way of reassuring me that we will see each other again. I do think that if they were here, they would be quite proud of all that I've accomplished, especially the work we have done as a team. As to the last…" He looked off into the sunset for a moment, and then turned to me. I could see a mixture of surprise and understanding in his eyes. "Do you know what you would say, to the loved one that you lost?"

"What—I—no, what are you even, I didn't—" I sputtered, but it was no use. He knew.

"You ask these questions because you, too, have lost someone. Am I correct?" Reluctantly, I nodded. "I thought as much." I must have looked as miserable as I felt, because his voice was unnaturally gentle when he asked, "May I ask who it was? You are not obligated to tell me."

I'd never told anyone before. Yondu had known, because he'd heard me screaming in my sleep and the task had fallen to him to shut me up. But everyone else—my teammates, Kraglin, the other ravagers, all my one-night stands, even Gamora—had been kept in the dark. It wasn't something I wanted to talk about. Ever.

But with Drax, the words came easily. "My mom died when I was six years old. She had cancer. I don't know if they have that on your planet, but it's basically this awful disease that can really wreak havoc on your body. Sometimes it can be cured, but with her, it can't." I took a deep breath and carefully extricated my walkman from the pocket of my sweater. "This was on me when Yondu picked me up. When she got a new one of these, she gave me hers. This is it. And she made me these mixtapes, full of her favorite songs. It's the only thing I have left of her, you know? So that's…that's why I had to go back for it. In the Kyln."

Drax looked stricken. "And I insulted you when you went to retrieve it…Peter, I am so sorry."

"No, no, don't…you couldn't have known." I took another deep breath, but my voice still cracked when I said, "I've never told anyone that before. Not even Gamora knows. It's not that I don't trust her, it's just that I…I didn't want her sympathy, you know? Like she'd try so hard to understand, but she's been through so much and my problems just seem so…so _tiny_ in comparison to all that…like, yeah, I lost my mom, but at least I wasn't tortured or biologically modified and—and I should be thankful for that, but…"

"But it still _hurts_." Suddenly his hands were clasped around mine, and I didn't even try to pull away. I needed to know he was really _there_. "Do not make the mistake of assuming that someone else has more right to grieve than you because they experienced a different form of tragedy."

"But…" Oh, no. The tears were welling in my eyes. "But it's not fair. I wasn't tortured by the man who killed my parents and forced to act like he was my father. I wasn't cybernetically modified against my will. I wasn't killed in action and forced to regrow myself from childhood. I didn't even witness my family's murder—sure, I was in the room when my mom died, but no one killed her, it wasn't anyone's fault she was sick, nobody poisoned her, it just _happened._" The tears were threatening to fall now, and I could not shut _up_. "I'm better off than anyone else on this damn team, I had the easiest time and all I ever think about is how fucking _scared_ I am, that you're all going to find out what a loser I am and how fucking weak I am and how selfish I am and how I can't just _get over it_, it was twenty-six damn _years_ ago, I should be able to think about it without wanting to cry now, what is _wrong_ with me…"

I didn't even realize I was shaking until I felt him let go of my hands. "Peter. May I embrace you?" he asked, his voice dipping into that soft, reassuring tone he'd used when asking if he could court me. I nodded, still fighting back tears. His arms slid around me and I didn't hesitate to press my face into his shoulder, allowing myself to relax as his touch sent waves of pure pleasure through my tense, quivering body. "No, no, _no_," he murmured, one hand tracing slow, gentle circles on my back. "You are allowed to grieve for her. No one will think you are selfish to do so."

I closed my eyes and melted into him. The tension slowly drained from my body as his touch worked magic on me. I never, _ever_ wanted this moment to end. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I shouldn't have dumped all this on you."

"And why not? It's not as though I am incapable of understanding." He pulled back and made me look at him. "I am honored that you trusted me with this knowledge. I will not tell anyone else about your mother, unless you wish me to." I shook my head. "No? Then your secret is safe with me." He paused, and then drew me in close again, pressing my head down on his shoulder. "_You_ are safe with me."

"I know," I choked out. "I know…Drax, I…" I tried to pull away, but he held me firm. "No, let me go, I have to tell you something." He loosened his grip, just enough for me to pull back and look into his face, but not allowing me to move away completely. "Thank you."

It was all I said, but that was okay. It was all I _needed_ to say.

The sky was nearly dark then, and because it was a weekend night—our last night in Candyfornia, God I wished we didn't have to leave—that was when the fireworks started. It's a mark of how intently focused on me he was that even when the fireworks started exploding in the sky near us, he didn't look away from me, didn't even show a hint of distraction. His hand came up and cupped the side of my face, thumb brushing aside a few escaped tears. "I told you while you were unconscious and recovering from your bullet wound that I would never leave your side."

"I never want you to." _I shouldn't have told you that…oh, fuck it._

We were close, far too close, and yet I made no move to pull away. "Peter?"

"Yes?" I let those beautiful, hypnotic blue eyes hold my gaze, let myself be swept away. I knew I would regret it later, but at that moment all I wanted was to stare into those eyes forever.

"I would like to kiss you now."

My heart took off like a helicopter propeller, hammering against my ribcage so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I must have consented, because a few seconds later that wonderful mouth was against mine.

It was everything I'd dreamed of and more. Drax tasted so good, fresh and clean and sweet, like the peppermint candy he'd probably eaten way too much of, and the way his arms closed around me—so protective, so _possessive_—made every one of my brain cells turn to water. I couldn't stop, couldn't make myself let go, couldn't help but give in and feed the craving I'd had for him since we'd met. I felt my eyelids flutter and close as his hands plunged inside my shirt, nearly fainted from sheer joy when his skin made contact with mine. This was perfect. This was _everything_…

…until reality hit me like a mack truck.

_You are going to screw this up._

The thought began in the far reaches of my brain, someplace where the poison of his kissed couldn't reach. But slowly it woke up the rest of me, took over like every other awful—but _true_—thought I'd ever had. I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't, because it was _there_ and it was _real_ and it wasn't just something I could turn off.

_You are going to screw this up. You will do something awful. He will get sick of how pathetic you are. He will leave you. You will do something to hurt him, and he will leave you. He will break your heart into a thousand pieces. You will not be happy with him. You cannot ever be happy with him. It is not possible for you to be happy with him. You made yourself this vulnerable to someone once, remember? You loved someone deeply, and look how it turned out. They died and you were left alone. Maybe this is a different kind of love but it will end the same way. You will be alone. You will be in pain._

_You cannot do this to yourself._

I'd thought that with his arms locked around me like that, I would have no chance to get away. But when I put both hands on his chest and shoved hard, he let go out of pure surprise. "Have I harmed you? Or displeased you in some way?" He reached out to pull me in again, but I scrambled away, frantic, afraid. I could not let him touch me again. "Peter, what is it? What have I done?"

Oh, God. That voice. The fault-line cracks in my heart widened; in a minute I was going to fly apart into a thousand pieces. I knew it, _I knew it_, the pain was already setting in. "I can't—I just can't, I'm sorry, I can't—" and then I was running away, slipping in frosting grass and half falling down the hill, fleeing in panic from the one thing I'd wanted and feared all my life.

_You knew you were going to blow it. Admit it, you knew you would._

I loved being right. Winning arguments, even against myself, was one of my favorite things ever. But now…for once in my life I wished I had been wrong.

**OKAY. So initially I wanted this whole thing, the whole time they were on Candyfornia, to be total fluff and just Peter starting to bond with Drax and maybe going okay, this is all right, I'm in love with him and the world hasn't ended yet…but that ending just sort of wrote itself. Like for realsies. So, yes, there will be more fluff on the way. Eventually. I promise. Just not yet because there has to be more tension first ;)**

**Super-special thanks to all the reviews and new follows/favorites. You guys make me smile! 3**


	9. Chapter 8

**This chapter is brought to you by insomnia (ahh…nothing like it, am I right? :P ) and is specially for Eremija, who wanted a Drax POV, and everfaraway, who wanted to see Rocket "roll around on the colored sugar beach & then end up covered in what looks like colored glitter." Here you go! :)**

I jolted awake in the middle of the night, fight-or-flight response fully kicked in, prepared to take out whatever had woken me up. "Who's there?" I whispered.

"Calm down, it's just me." The pressure on my chest eased to the side and then disappeared. The room was pitch-black, but I knew Rocket's voice anywhere. "Couldn't sleep. Thought you'd be awake, I've heard you sneaking out with Gamora like a thousand times in the last two weeks. Looks like I was wrong. Sorry about that."

"No, no, it's fine." I scooted over—unnecessary, really, since that bed could probably have held me plus ten Rockets with room to spare—and let him crawl up onto the pillow next to mine. "Bad dreams?"

"You could say that." My eyes had adjusted enough to let me see his outline, curled up on the pillow like a Terran raccoon. I smiled at the sight; I'd never tell him how cute that was, but he looked like a Disney character…that is, if Disney characters had sailor mouths and mad skills concerning anything that blew up. "Groot's mad at me. Can I stay here tonight?"

Okay, hold the fuck up. "Whoa, _what_? You're serious? Groot is mad at _you_?" He nodded. "Wow. Never saw that coming."

"Well, he is." Rocket sighed. "I fucked up pretty bad."

"So did I." I sat up and reached for my lamp, but a furry hand on my wrist stopped me. "What?"

"Don't turn the light on. It's easier to talk in the dark. What did you do?"

I pushed his hand away and lay back down. "You first."

"I told him I didn't love him. Not in, you know, the I-just-like-you-as-a-friend sense, but in a you-mean-nothing-to-me kind of way." Long pause. "I didn't mean it. I guess I don't have to tell you that."

"Yeah. Well, I haven't done much better…Drax kissed me and I ran away."

"Jeez. Him too, huh? Poor guys. What the hell is wrong with them? Can't they see how fucking _stupid_ it is to waste their time on us? What the hell have we ever done except screw them over?"

"Beats the hell out of me." I rolled over to face him. "Don't take this the wrong way—and I really mean that, Rocket, please don't attack me when I say this—but I can kind of see where Groot's coming from. I mean, aside from the fact that you're, like, two billion times smarter than anyone else on this team—and don't you dare tell Gamora I said that—you're the only person he's ever met who actually understands him. No wonder he likes you so much."

"Yeah, well, look where it's got him." He stretched out so we were lying side-by-side. "And I mean, it's not like I don't care about the guy. I do. But he's all 'ooh let's get space-married' and my knee-jerk reaction is, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you? And for good reason, too. Like…he's a damn _tree_ for God's sake. I'm literally attracted to a fucking _tree_. What the ever-living _fuck_?"

I laughed at that. "Yeah, well, I've slept with weirder things, trust me."

"So I've heard, Mr. I'll-Fuck-An-Askavarian-For-Profit."

"Oh my God, that was _one time_!"

Rocket laughed, which made me feel a little better. "You know, I've fucked weirder things than a tree, too…I don't know why this is so different."

"Oh, I can tell you that." I sighed and stretched my arms over my head. God, that bed was comfortable. "As you've taken great care to point out, I've screwed around a lot. I mean, we're talking in the low hundreds, here. But with Drax I'm like, what? What is this? How do I _do_ this? And it's not because I don't know where it's going, because yeah, I know what to do in the bedroom. That part's easy. It's the whole, you know, falling in love thing. That's what freaks me the fuck out. Wouldn't surprise me a bit if you're the same way."

"Great. Emotionally stunted fuckin' tools. That's us. We should start a club."

"No shit." I looked over at the clock. It was one-thirty in the morning. "Jesus. Look at us, sitting here talking about feelings like a couple of teenage girls."

"I know. We're a pair of total fucking losers, aren't we."

"Damn straight." I sat up. "Wanna go get wasted?"

He side-eyed me for a minute, then shrugged and got up. "Ah, why the fuck not. Let's go."

We snuck out and went back to the _Milano_, where all the good liquor was stashed, and dug up some normal, Xandar-approved vodka—not the mega-potent stuff that had gotten me beyond trashed when I'd gotten into the drinking contest with Gamora; I doubt I could've handled that tonight. We had a few shots, got into a fight, then had a few more. That was when I suggested we go back and explore the surrounding area one last time before we had to leave in the morning, so we staggered off the _Milano_ (each bringing the rest of a bottle, just in case) and went out to look around.

We didn't go into the chocolate forest—we knew we'd get lost—but we did wander down around the deserted boardwalk, which led us to the candy playground. In the middle of the playground equipment there was a sandbox, which was full of—you guessed it—multi-colored sanding sugar. "Hey, check this out." I jumped into the box. Because the sky was dark and the air was mild, the sand felt cool to the touch. I plunged my hand in it, up to my wrist. "Ooh. This feels nice. Try it."

Rocket paused to take another hit of alcohol before he hopped in and settled next to me. "Ha. Look at this stuff. It's like the ashes of a cremated unicorn."

"Dude, morbid much?" I scooped up a handful of sand and let it flow between my fingers. "Ooh. It's _pretty_."

Rocket flopped over on his stomach. "And comfy. Try rolling in it."

We rolled around in the sandbox like little kids, laughing way too loudly and pausing only to finish off our drinks (okay, bottles) and when we were done I could feel sand sticking in my hair and thought I must've looked ridiculous…until I looked at Rocket, who was so covered in glittery sanding sugar he looked like he'd just escaped from an exploding craft store. "Oh my God. _Oh my God_, you should see yourself," I choked out, laughing too hard to breathe. By that time I was so drunk that everything, especially sugar-dusted Rocket, was beyond hilarious.

He looked down, felt all over his sugar-coated body, and then he too burst out laughing. "Holy shit, what the hell did I do?"

"Rolled around in sugar?" I reminded him helpfully.

Rocket snorted. "Damn. I look like a fuckin' _donut_." He started to laugh. "You too. You should see yourself. You look like a giant walking candy stick. If some little kid saw you right now he'd probably try to eat you."

And then _bam_, Rocket was gone, the sandbox was gone. I was six years old, hiding in the corner of an unfamiliar, surgical-cold spaceship, huddled up in a too-big leather jacket, trying to hide my own tears.

_Look at me, boy._

Yondu. I tried to look up, I couldn't.

_I said look—aw, fuck. You cryin' now? Like a little girl? Look at me, kid—_he grabbed my face and forced me to look, his face was swimming in and out of view, like I was looking at him from underwater—_you cry in front of these boys, they'll eat you right up. They ain't never tasted somethin' like you before. You got that? You give 'em any excuse and they'll go and tear you apart. You don't give 'em that reason. You hear me? Stop it._

A rough arm yanked me up. _Get up. Get up, you li'l wimp. Stop that whining._

"Quill. _ Quill_, come on, _up!_"

_Get up, boy._

I was forced to my feet.

"Quill! Aw, fuck—Peter! Star-Lord! Whatever the hell name you recognize, _wake the fuck up_!"

I couldn't stop crying. A hand slapped my face. The sting seemed to reverberate through my entire body. _You hit me_, I tried to say, but Yondu was already on it.

_You don't touch the kid, you hear? He ain't any good to us damaged._ To me, he said, _Kid, I ain't your daddy, you better not forget that. Next time one of these thugs whacks you, it's your own fault if you don't fight 'em off. I ain't your bodyguard, you don't treat me like one, you got it?_

Yondu was fading out of my sight and I could hear Rocket again, shouting my name, but I couldn't answer and I couldn't move. Every one of my limbs felt like they'd been stuffed full of lead. _It's the alcohol_, I realized.

A small, furry hand was slapping my face. "Gamora's going to kill me if anything happens to you—come on, Quill, wake _up_!"

I wanted to tell him I was okay. Just tired.

_You're weak, boy._

"Peter, _please!_" I'd never heard Rocket sound so—

Oh.

Hello, darkness. Nice to see you again. No, that's okay. I like darkness. And silence.

I couldn't hear Yondu or Rocket anymore and I didn't mind one bit.

It was easier to be alone.

~o~

[Drax POV]

_The sunset was beautiful…and so was the man sitting beside me. "Do you ever dream about them?" he asked me. "Your family, I mean. Do you ever think about what it would be like if they were here? Would they be proud of you? If you had one more chance to see them, do you know what you'd say to them?"_

_I was surprised at these questions; up to now I had not been aware that Peter, too, had lost someone he loved. I had to think about my answers before I spoke. "I…do not know the answers to some of your questions. Yes, I do see them in my dreams, often with a message of comfort…I like to think this is their way of reassuring me that we will see each other again. I do think that if they were here, they would be quite proud of all that I've accomplished, especially the work we have done as a team. As to the last…" I couldn't think of an answer, so instead I asked him, "Do you know what you would say, to the loved one that you lost?"_

"_What—I—no, what are you even, I didn't—" He looked around frantically, as though he thought someone else might come out of the water and answer for him._

"_You ask these questions because you, too, have lost someone. Am I correct?" He hesitated, and then nodded. He looked so sad, I wanted to comfort him. I was not certain he would let me, however, so I merely continued, "I thought as much. May I ask who it was? You are not obligated to tell me," I added, hoping he would not take offense to my question._

_He didn't seem to be offended. "My mom died when I was six years old. She had cancer. I don't know if they have that on your planet, but it's basically this awful disease that can really wreak havoc on your body. Sometimes it can be cured, but with her, it couldn't." He removed his musical device from the pocket of his jacket. "This was on me when Yondu picked me up. When she got a new one of these, she gave me hers. This is it. And she made me these mixtapes, full of her favorite songs. It's the only thing I have left of her, you know? So that's…that's why I had to go back for it. In the Kyln."_

_Oh, no. And to think, I had called him an imbecile when he returned to the prison to retrieve it. Now I realized what it meant to him, and I deeply regretted my unkind words. "And I insulted you when you went to retrieve it…Peter, I am so sorry."_

"_No, no, don't…you couldn't have known." He breathed slowly, and I could see he was trying to calm himself. But his voice trembled when he spoke again: "I've never told anyone that before. Not even Gamora knows. It's not that I don't trust her, it's just that I…I didn't want her sympathy, you know? Like she'd try so hard to understand, but she's been through so much and my problems just seem so…so tiny in comparison to all that…like, yeah, I lost my mom, but at least I wasn't tortured or biologically modified and—and I should be thankful for that, but…"_

"_But it still hurts," I interrupted. I hesitated—what if he pulled away from me again?—and then decided to take the risk. I reached out and took his hands in mine. "Do not make the mistake of assuming that someone else has more right to grieve than you because they experienced a different form of tragedy."_

"_But…" He tensed, biting his lip, and then began to speak very quickly. "But it's not fair…" He went on and on for some time about how unjust it was of him to grieve for his mother, when the rest of us had been subjected to, as he saw it, much worse tragedies. He called himself selfish, weak, loser…such awful, unkind names. _

_I was beginning to wonder if someone else had called him those names before, so often that he began to believe they were accurate, because why else would he say such unpleasant things about himself? Could he not understand that few others showed as much spirit, as much courage and as much selflessness, as he did? I recalled that he had risked his own life—_twice_—to save Gamora. He was willing to go into a battle to the death to save the galaxy. He was so distraught when others died that he punished himself on their behalf—did he really think these were the actions of a selfish man?_

_His entire body was trembling. I could feel his hands shaking inside mine. I felt an ache deep inside my chest, an unbearable longing to hold him and comfort him. He did not deserve to suffer like this. "Peter. May I embrace you?" I asked carefully, hoping he wouldn't run away from me again. He nodded, avoiding my gaze. I didn't care. This was progress. _

_I took him into my arms and tried to soothe him, telling him he was allowed to grieve for his mother, it was not selfish of him, why would anyone think that? I was relieved when, instead of arguing, he leaned against me and allowed me to stroke his back until he stopped trembling. His body fit perfectly against mine. He apologized for grieving. I told him it was all right, I understood, I would not tell anyone his secret. Then I held him close again, and told him what I had wanted to tell him for some time now (but hadn't because I'd known he would not believe me): "You are safe with me."_

"_I know…Drax, I…" He attempted to leave me, but I held onto him, fearing that if I let him go now, he would run away from me again, and I didn't want that. "No, let me go, I have to tell you something." Reluctantly I loosened my hold on him, just enough for him to pull back and look me in the eyes,, but not enough to allow him to get away. "Thank you," he said, his voice quiet but so sincere, and I understood that he was thanking me for more than just a single embrace. He meant _thank you for understanding._ He meant _thank you for not leaving me.

_I touched his cheek with my hand, drying a few tears—very carefully, I knew I could easily hurt him, he was so much smaller than me. "I told you while you were unconscious and recovering from your bullet wound that I would never leave your side." I felt he needed to know this._

"_I never want you to."_

_I stayed perfectly still to avoid frightening him into running away, but inside I felt like leaping for joy. He had said it, he finally said it, he wanted me to stay. This was the permission I had been waiting for. "Peter?" I began, keeping my voice low and steady, so as not to startle him._

"_Yes?" For once he held my gaze instead of averting his eyes. I felt that was a positive sign._

"_I would like to kiss you now," I told him, and silently prayed he would let me._

_He didn't say yes or no. What he said instead was much more intimate, and I knew he meant every word. He looked up at me with tears in those beautiful eyes and whispered, "I—I _need_ you." His lower lip quivered, and I couldn't resist any longer. I took him into my arms again and kissed him full on the mouth._

_At first he tensed, and I thought I might have surprised him. Then he relaxed into the kiss, pressing himself close against me as though he were trying to thoroughly meld our bodies together. I knew then that he had wanted this as long as I had, and I felt a deep sense of relief that he was finally allowing himself to have it. Encouraged by the soft whimpers of pleasure that he was emitting, I reached inside of his shirt and enjoyed the feel of his warm, smooth skin under my hands._

_I was so sure he was enjoying it that I was stunned when he put both hands against my chest and forcibly pushed me away. "Have I harmed you? Or displeased you in some way?" I asked, alarmed. I tried to reach out to him, to comfort him, but he leapt out of my reach, an expression of unmistakable terror in his eyes. "Peter, what is it? What have I done?" I pleaded. If I had hurt him, I needed to know._

"_I can't—I just can't, I'm sorry, I can't—" He jumped to his feet, looking at our surroundings, but what he was looking for I couldn't guess. He shot me one last look of pure terror, and then—as I had feared he would—he ran away, leaving me alone on the hilltop, wondering how I possibly could have frightened him so badly this time._

"What. Did. You. DO?!"

I winced at the angry tone in Gamora's voice. "I do not know what caused him to run away."

"Well, whatever it was made him run off and get intoxicated with the damned raccoon!"

"The raccoon resents that." Rocket, who had apparently bathed in glitter, was slumped over on the formerly-clean couch, holding a glass of water that Gamora had told him to drink.

"The raccoon is still drunk and had better shut up," Gamora snapped. "Drax, I mean it. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing offensive," I assured her. "We were telling each other about our families. He became distraught and I embraced him—I had his permission to do so—and then kissed him. And I had his permission to do that too. He seemed perfectly well at first, and yet he still decided to run away. I have no idea what offenses I committed to cause him to do that."

Gamora sat down beside Rocket and put her face in her hands. "Oh, you _idiot_. You _kissed_ him. No wonder—"

"I did nothing without his consent!"

"Maybe not, but you never think about these things, do you? A kiss isn't just a kiss to him, not when he's—" She stopped herself. "Anyway—"

"Not when he is _what_, Gamora?" She didn't answer, so I raised my voice. "_Tell me._"

"He's 'n love with you," slurred Rocket. "'S why he acts like such an idiot when he sees you…I thought everyone knew that." He kicked Gamora in the ribs. "Tell 'im, Gamora. Peter's got it baaaad, amiright?"

"Shut _up_," Gamora hissed.

I looked at Rocket with interest. "He confirmed to you that he has intimate feelings for me?"

Gamora sighed. She looked thoroughly defeated. "Oh, the hell with it. Yes, he's been in love with you for weeks now."

"I had hoped that was the truth…and yet he seems more frightened of me than infatuated with me."

"That's 'cause you scare the hell outta him," Rocket told me. "He thinks people'll think he's useless if they find out he got actual feelings and shit. Which is fucking _stupid_ if y'ask me. But tell him that."

"All right, I will." I turned to go, but Gamora blocked my path. "Excuse me, I must go wake Peter and tell him—"

"You'll tell him _nothing_," she insisted. "Let him come to you."

"And if he doesn't come?"

"He will. Just give him some time." She looked towards the bedroom where she'd laid a drunken Peter to sleep off the remnants of the alcohol, and when she looked back at me she seemed much less angry. "You overwhelm him, Drax. He's not used to being in love. Let him have some time to come to terms with it. Be patient. Let him see that you don't have any desire to hurt him."

"Of course I have no desire to hurt him, I love him!"

"And you know that, and I know that, and gods help us all, even Rocket knows that. But Peter doesn't. Well, he knows, but he doesn't understand yet." She sighed again, and suddenly she looked sad. "He's used to being abandoned. And he won't allow himself to be close to you until he gets it through his head that you won't do that to him. I don't know how long that will take, but until it happens, you _must_ back off. Let him come to you. He _will_ come, I promise."

I didn't understand why Peter couldn't accept that I had no dishonorable intentions towards him. But if what Gamora was saying was true—and I had never known her to lie—then what I would have to do was be very patient with him. Very well, I could do that. I'd waited years to slay Ronan; I could wait as long as necessary for Peter to understand that no matter how many times he ran away, I would always be right there when he decided to come back.


	10. Chapter 9

**This chapter is for Winter-Rae, who wanted to see more Drax POV. And yes, there will be Drax whump (not in this chapter, but it's definitely coming), and no, don't worry, I will not be killing Drax off because *tiny whisper* he's too hot to kill off… *looks around* What? I never said that. :P**

**This is also for my bestie, who read the whole thing, berated me for, and I quote, "turning Drax into a Manic Pixie Dream Girl," and would not leave me alone until I gave Drax some good why-won't-he-love-me angst. You're welcome. ;)**

Oh, God. The pain. The fucking _pain_. My head felt like a jackhammer-wielding construction crew had taken up permanent residence there. My mouth tasted like a dirty sock. I couldn't swallow, my throat was so dry. Oh, this just wasn't fair.

I heard footsteps, then felt a soft, slight weight on the edge of my bed…followed immediately by a cool, damp touch against my forehead. Oh, that felt good. I dragged my eyes open and was not surprised to see Gamora sitting there, gently pressing a wet washcloth against my aching head. "Don't stop," I rasped out, unable to raise my voice above a whisper.

"I won't," she promised. "Peter, honestly, are you _trying_ to kill yourself?" Her words were harsh, but her voice was low and soothing.

"No…I have to tell you something, though."

"What?"

I licked my dry lips. "I'm sorry…oh, God, Gamora, I'm so sorry, I was such a fucking idiot…"

"What are you talking about?"

"On Knowhere…when I played you 'Fooled Around and Fell in Love' and we slow-danced out on that balcony, you remember…and I tried to kiss you, I didn't even _ask_, if you hadn't stopped me I probably would have just done it…I'm sorry." My throat was already stinging, but now I could feel a familiar ache that I knew meant impending tears. Again I tried to swallow. Didn't work. "I wish I could take that back. I know now…it's the worst."

"Peter—I accept your apology, just so you're aware—but what happened?" Her face suddenly darkened. "Did Drax force himself on you?"

"No," I said quickly. "No, no, _no_…he didn't. He kissed me, but I said it was okay…I actually thought it would be." I choked back a dry sob, and Gamora's hand quickly linked around mine. I pulled away. "No, don't. I don't want sympathy."

"Well, you have mine anyway. And my forgiveness too. I forgave your actions on Knowhere a long time ago. I knew you meant no harm…I can now admit that I overreacted." She gave me a significant look and added pointedly, "I wish you could do the same."

I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl up into a little ball and scream into my pillow. I wanted to run, get away from this place, go back to the days when it was just me in my ship and no one ever made me feel like my heart was exploding out of my chest. But I couldn't do any of that, so I just looked up at Gamora helplessly. "I don't know what to do," I admitted.

She gave me another sympathetic look. "I think you know quite well what you have to do."

"No, I don't."

"Oh, yes you do. Think about it."

I did. Then I shook my head. "No. I can't."

"Then there's nothing more I can do to help you." She stood up and gently smoothed out my sheets. "But Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurting him will not make you hurt any less."

She left me alone to think. And I did not cry after she left the room. I wanted to. But I didn't.

The next time I woke up an entirely different figure was standing in the doorway. It was dark and I could just make out a hulking silhouette. I sat up cautiously. "Drax," I greeted him, uncertain of how he would react. Did he hate me? Was he just hurt, or was he angry? Either way I'd better watch out. Drax in pain, I'd learned on our first trip to Knowhere, was every bit as dangerous as angry Drax.

But he wasn't in combat stance. He was just leaning against the door frame. "Rocket informed us that you had some sort of psychological break from reality while under the influence of alcohol."

I cringed. "Oh. Um. I don't really remember—"

"He said you called him Yondu, and that you were openly weeping."

_Oh, fuck._ I didn't say anything. Drax seemed to take my silence as an invitation, because he entered my room. The only light in the room came streaming in from the hallway. I remembered what Rocket had said the previous night: _it's easier to talk in the dark._ "I'm not going to talk about Yondu," I said, trying to cover the sound of my pounding heart by speaking loudly. "If you're here for an apology, you're right, you deserve one. But if you just want to ask me about Yondu, you can just go now."

"I only wish to ask you one question. Then I will cease." He waited for my curt nod before he continued, "Did he ever abuse you sexually?"

Of all the questions I'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. Everyone seemed concerned over whether or not Yondu had beat me up (which he hadn't, but like I'd told Rocket, he wasn't too concerned about stopping people who did). No one had ever asked me before if Yondu had raped me…which, again, he never had. "No. God. Why would you think that?"

"I thought it might explain your…hesitation earlier."

_Oh._ The lightbulb clicked on. Drax was blaming my endless stop/start shenanigans on a painful sexual history. Nope, wrong track. I almost wished I had been raped; it would have provided the perfect explanation for my total lack of competence when it came to matters of the heart. But no, I was just an idiot.

"No, Drax. That's not why I ran away." I looked down at the sheets, illuminated by the wide beam of light from the hall, and began to trace the white-on-darker-white pattern. I was going to miss my marshmallow bed when we left.

"Then why did you?" he pressed. "Did I harm you in some way?"

"No, that wasn't it." I sighed, brought my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around, trying to curl up. For safety, I guess, though I couldn't pin down why; Drax had made it clear he wasn't interested in hurting me. "I just…couldn't handle it. Being kissed, I mean. By you. I told you I need time…it's my fault, I mean, I shouldn't have let you kiss me, but I—I wanted to know what it felt like, I guess." I rested my cheek on top of my knees. I didn't want to look at him.

"Oh," he said quietly. Everything I needed to hear was in that one syllable. He still—God knows why—wanted me. "I apologize for causing you to feel such anxiety. I believed that your consent was genuine…please forgive me. I should have known you would not accept me so easily."

"Yeah, well, spare me the courtier act, okay? I get it." I still couldn't bring myself to look up. "I don't even know why you're even here. I think I proved earlier I'm no use to you. I mean, did you think I'd suddenly come to my senses? Did you think you'd come in here and I'd let you…what, fix me, save my soul, all that manic-pixie crap? 'Cause I'm sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but that is _not_ happening here."

"Peter. You are not making sense."

"Story of my God damned life, Drax. Now for real. What do you want from me?"

"I want to know why you refuse to allow me to comfort you when you are clearly in pain," he said, and that shut me right up, because once again he managed to totally surprise me. "I want to know why I frighten you so badly that you run away the moment I get close to you."

I put my head down again. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Then what can you tell me?"

That required some thought. Finally, I said, "I want to be friends, because I honestly don't think I can live without you. But that is _literally_ all I can offer you…maybe it's all you'll ever get from me. I don't know."

"I can accept that."

"Really? Because I feel like we've been here before."

"I will do nothing without your consent. I believe I told you that last time, as well." He stood up. "And I mean it now as I did then. I will not harm you, Peter Quill. You must believe me."

"I believe you don't want to, but you can hurt me whether you mean to or not." I lay back down, curling up on my side as he started to walk away. Then I sat back up. "Drax?"

He turned around. "What is it?"

"What did I say earlier? Before you kissed me," I quickly clarified. "You said you wanted to kiss me and I know I said yes in some way or other because you wouldn't have done it otherwise. But I can't remember what I said. Do you?"

"Yes, I do…you said, 'I need you.'"

The look of shock on my face must have been all the reply he needed, because he calmly turned around and left, while I slumped back into bed and desperately tried to sort out the explosion of half-formed thoughts rampaging mercilessly through my still-aching head.

~o~

It wasn't until we were back on the _Milano_ that I realized Groot was carefully keeping his distance from Rocket, who looked even more pissed-off than usual. "You two?" I asked quietly when Gamora's back was turned.

Rocket couldn't meet my eyes. "Can't think of what to say to him."

"You could start with 'I'm sorry.'"

"I could, but would he believe me?" He finally looked up. "If Drax said something like that to you, would _you_ believe him if he apologized?"

"I don't know. Probably. Maybe…see, he never lies. About anything. So he'd never say anything like that in the first place."

"Well there goes that idea. Fuck. I'm an idiot."

"Okay, one, no you're not, you're literally the smartest person on this damn ship, how many times do I have to tell you? And two, I've never seen you guys spend this much time avoiding each other. The separation's gotta be killing him and whether you say it or not, you don't like it either."

"So what do you suggest, that we ride off into the sunset?"

"Yeah, 'cause I'm obviously the one to talk about that, I can't even let Drax touch me at this point. But Jesus Christ, just say _something_ to him. Even 'hey, asshole, stop leaving flower petals in the shower drain' would work."

Rocket hid his smirk behind his paws. "Okay, okay. Just for the record though, I have said that to him. Doesn't work."

"Yeah, well, say whatever you want, but just be careful…you know what I said to Drax? When he kissed me, I mean."

"What?" Rocket was eyeing Groot, who was currently helping Gamora braid her hair (and okay, that was fucking _adorable_, I'm just saying).

"I said 'I need you.'"

Rocket looked up at me. "You're shitting me."

"No, I'm not. So before you say anything to him, just make sure it's something you won't want to take back later."

"Damn. Quill, I think you might actually suck at this whole romance thing more than I do."

"Took you this long to figure that out?" I snuck a look over at Drax, who'd started polishing his weapons again.

"No, it's just surprising. You know, you being known for your pelvic sorcery and all."

"Yeah, I know. But like I said before…" I watched Drax cross the room and disappear down the hall. "It's different when you're in love."

Rocket let out a low whistle. "So you finally admit it, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, watching him watch Groot. "Yeah, I finally admit it."

_Except now it's too late for me to do anything about it._

~o~

[Drax]

"_You are safe with me." I know._

"_I told you I would never leave your side." I never want you to._

_I need you._

_I honestly don't think I can live without you._

He had said quite clearly that he could not live without me by his side. And yet he continued to try and make me leave him. I couldn't understand it. Why would he freely admit that he needed me, yet continue to push me away? Perhaps this was part of the typical Terran courting ritual, but I doubted it. As Gamora had taken great care to inform me, Peter was not accustomed to feeling loved. That made me sad. I wanted him to understand I loved him, but how could I do so when he refused to allow me to court him properly?

Back on my planet everything was so much simpler. If you felt a romantic attraction to another consenting adult, you simply informed them of your feelings. If they returned the sentiment, you began a relationship. If they did not, the proper thing for them to do was to politely decline, and all involved individuals left the situation with their dignity fully intact. It was quite easy.

But this situation with Peter was more complex. I knew I could not force him to love me. But I didn't want to force him; I wanted him to love me of his own accord. And above all else I wanted him to understand that I loved him and couldn't bear the thought of letting him go. Gamora had said he feared I would abandon him, but why—and how—could I do that? Where would I go, if I were to leave him? And why would I want to leave him in the first place? He must know by now that when I made a promise I kept it. And I had sworn to him that I would never again leave his side. I was going to keep that promise, no matter what.

There was so much I wanted to do with him. Now that I knew what it felt like to hold him, it was all I could to to stop myself from taking him into my arms. I felt lonely when I wasn't with him. When I was alone it felt as though something vital was missing, like I needed something I didn't have and nothing would feel right until I had it—and then he would walk into the room and I would think _ah, yes, there it is. That's what was missing._ I noticed that he would look around the room when he entered, and if he saw me, he would arrange it so he was near me. That was nice, but if I tried to initiate contact he would flee. And that I couldn't understand.

I suppose I ought to have been angry with him for running away from me so frequently. I ought to have felt insulted. But I was not angry, I was merely hurt. And, yes, definitely confused. I had thought, while we were on Candyfornia, that he had begun to accept that I loved him, and that he was ready to express his love for me. Yet twice he had told me that even if he did have romantic feelings for me, he could not allow himself to act on them, with no valid explanation as to why he couldn't.

It was difficult, being in his presence, knowing how it felt to kiss him and hold him, longing to do so but not being allowed to do it. I hadn't lied to Peter—I did still dream about my family, and I knew I always would—but I had not told him that his face frequently appeared in my dreams as well. In my dreams, he always let me touch him. I had many nighttime visions of pulling him into my lap, touching that wonderfully soft skin, smoothing the rough curls away from his face and kissing him until he would sigh and melt into my arms. I longed to do all of this in real life too, but he never let me.

_Patience_, I reminded myself as I watched him from across the room, plotting some new mission with Gamora. _You must be patient. Gamora said he will come to you in time. And she spends so much time with him, she must know something you don't._

I reminded myself again that I had waited years to kill Ronan. I was a man of discipline. I could wait as long as it took for Peter Quill to realize—and accept—that I loved him and that he was allowed to love me too.

~o~

When we came back from our leave, Gamora advised me to be subtle in my efforts to court Peter so that he wouldn't "feel threatened" (her words, not mine) and run away again. I have many strengths, but subtlety is not one of them. But if I wanted Peter, I realized I would have to learn, and I'd have to learn quickly.

I started with small gestures like making him his favorite Terran foods whenever I cooked. That was easy enough. His favorite foods were things like donuts and pizza, which weren't very difficult to make. At first he seemed surprised to come into the kitchen and see food he liked on the table. Then he started to get used to it and simply thanked me. I thought that was progress.

If we docked on a planet that had any kind of market for Terran goods and Peter saw something that reminded him of his childhood on Terra, I would find a way to get it for him. He caught on to that much quicker. "Why do you keep bringing me presents?"

I had just offered him a small, unattractive (I thought, anyway) figure with an oddly-colored tuft of hair. I knew he'd previously owned a similar one, but had given it to Yondu in place of the Infinity Stone. I thought he might like it. Obviously, I was mistaken. "Because you seem to like the gifts I bring you?"

His face turned red. I had learned this was the biological response that Terrans had when they were embarrassed, but what had I done to embarrass him? "Just…tone it back, okay? You're like a kitten bringing me dead mice. I'm not that special," he muttered, and then shoved the figure back into my hands before he walked away, leaving me to ponder why he had compared me to a young feline.

Since he had said _tone it back_ (an odd choice of words, in my opinion) but not _stop_, I assumed he was not opposed to getting gifts from me, just not quite so many at such frequent intervals. I asked Gamora, who seemed to be an expert on Terran courtship—though how she'd come by such knowledge I did not know—for more advice, and she suggested I try leaving gifts for him to find rather than offering them in person. So I did that, left little trinkets from various planets that we visited, and since he never said more than "thank you" I assumed he was amenable.

My teammates eagerly assisted me in my endeavor. Sometimes we'd come back from a mission and Rocket would scamper by, stop to press something into my hands, and whisper, "Give that to Peter, it's from his home planet, he'll love it." Groot would grow several flowers in his palm, hand them over to me, and then meaningfully look in Peter's direction with a whispered "_I am Groot_." I did not have to have translating capabilities to know what he meant. And of course Gamora was most helpful, ensuring that I spaced the gifts adequately so that Peter did not feel, as she phrased it, "overwhelmed by the attention."

One night, after I'd left a magnetic audio recording (Gamora called it a "cassette tape") on his bunk and retreated to the common area to clean my weapons, I heard a noise that can only be classified as a squeal coming from the bunk room. I looked up to see a very upset Peter stomping down the hallway. "Okay, why in the _hell_ did you leave this in my room?" he demanded, holding it up so we could all see it. But he was looking at me. He knew I was the one who'd done it.

Gamora stood up quickly. "Peter, calm down—"

"No! No, I will not calm down because this is just getting _ridiculous_!" He threw the tape onto one of the couches.

I couldn't understand why he disliked the tape so much. After all, he did love music. We all knew that. "How have I offended you?" I asked as I stood up and faced him.

His face was bright red. Interesting. This was an odd time to be embarrassed. "It's too—it's just—damn it, Drax, we've been over this!"

"And I believe that's our cue to leave," Gamora said quickly, and began to nudge Rocket and Groot towards the door.

"Are you kidding? It was just starting to get good," Rocket protested.

"We are leaving," Gamora said firmly, pushing Rocket and Groot out of the room and shutting the sliding door behind her.

Peter ran his hands over his face. "Drax. Come on. You can't possibly think this is going to do anything."

"What are you speaking of, Peter?" I tried to move towards him, but he backed away.

"I keep telling you no, I can't do this, and you just _don't get it._"

"You also said you needed me," I reminded him.

I was not expecting his reaction. He let out an angry, pained yell, turned around, and punched the wall. I moved towards him quickly, trying to ascertain that he was all right—surely a member of the more-fragile Terran species could not withstand striking such a solid object—but he reached out and pushed me back with one hand. "_I don't need you_," he said angrily. "The only thing I need is for you to leave me alone."

"That is not what you said on Candyfornia."

He looked at me, disgusted. "Oh my God. Oh my _God_, you are literally the dumbest person alive." He looked up at the ceiling, as if it somehow might provide him some aid. "I'm sorry. I was trying to do this without hurting you, but you're so fucking _oblivious_ I guess that's not going to be possible." He turned and looked me straight in the eyes. "I am _not going to date you._ I don't want to be your lover or your mate or _whatever_ you call it on your home planet, because _I do not fucking love you._ No matter how many fucking presents you sneak into my bunk or how many times you get my sorry ass out of trouble, that's not going to change. You got that? Now _back the fuck off._" He turned and left the room, forcibly shutting the door behind him.

I stood there, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Peter really was the most confusing being I had ever encountered. He was so gentle, and so _vulnerable_, one moment—and then the next he would say such hurtful things. I couldn't understand it. Gamora had told me several times that Peter's behavior towards me was motivated by fear, rather than love, but she assured me that he did love me. Yet I could see no love or fear in the eyes of the man who had just so coldly, cruelly rejected me. Only anger.

Gamora entered the room moments after Peter left. I knew she must have heard what he had said; the _Milano_ was not such a large ship and his voice carried. "What happened?" she asked.

"He did not appreciate my attempts to court him." I had begun to understand what Peter had just said to me. "He does not love me. He told me so very clearly."

"He was lying. Drax—"

I shook my head. "No, Gamora, I do not think he was."

She gave me a sympathetic look. "I know better. He told me he loved you, he told you he needed you—oh, Drax, he's just _afraid_. You must see that."

"Fear is no reason to treat someone else so cruelly."

Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly did he say to you? We could hear shouting from the cockpit, but we couldn't make out the words."

I relayed, as briefly as I could, what Peter had said to me. When I finished, Gamora stood there, shaking her head and looking very angry. "Oh, I'm going to—no, I can't say that, you'll think I mean it literally. I'm _not_ going to kill him. But I'm going to give him a severe talking-to. _What_ he could have been thinking—"

"He was thinking he wishes for me to leave him alone. He made that quite clear." I turned away from her. Suddenly I desperately wished to be alone. "I thank you for your help, Gamora, but I believe my relationship with Peter is beyond your aid now."

I felt her hand on my shoulder. "Drax, listen," she said, much more gently than she had spoken a moment ago, "Peter didn't mean it. You don't know—"

"I know enough." I pushed her hand away. "Please, Gamora. I know you only mean to help, but at this moment I must be alone."

She nodded slowly. "I understand. You know where to find me."

"Of course I do. The ship is not very big."

"Then I'll let you have some privacy." She left again, closing the door behind her, and I sat down on the couch. The tape that Peter had hurled away lay on the cushion next to me. I picked it up and, for a moment, I stared at it. The last thing I had tried to give him, and he had thrown it away as if it meant nothing to him…

…because it did mean nothing to him. _I_ meant nothing to him.

I stared at the tape a moment longer, and then crushed it to dust in my fist.

**I've got a couple of questions about where Groot's been through all of this…aaagh. I'm sorry guys. I kind of suck at writing Groot because I either go all the way over to one side and make him like waaaay perfect (because COME ON, he's literally the sweetest character in the whole movie) or I go to the OTHER side and make him the most oblivious fucker in the galaxy. I'm working on it, I swear, and because there's impending Grocket, there will be more Groot. I promise. If I can work it in I might even do a Rocket POV focusing solely on the dynamic between him and Groot…how does that sound? :)**

**P.S. thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited. You make me so happy and some days literally the only thing that keeps me from going UGH SCREW THIS STORY I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO GO WITH IT ANYMORE is knowing that people are actually reading it. So thank you *hearts* (because for some reason this website won't let me make normal hearts) ;)**


	11. Chapter 10

**Sorry I took so long to update! This was a really hard chapter to write, because I've felt some of what Peter's feeling in this one (self-hatred, loneliness, self-imposed isolation—that's a big one—thinking everyone hates me too, etc.) and holy shit is that ever hard to put into words. Especially in a way that actually makes sense. So if Peter seems all over the place, that's why.**

**On the other hand, I've also been the "Drax" in this scenario as well, so that was hard to write too. The first and only guy I dated had huge self-esteem issues, PTSD and chronic physical illness on top of all of that. So I know what it's like to be on both ends of it—not believing when someone says they love you, and being with someone who doesn't believe it when you say 'I love you'—and both ends really suck, trust me. So that's my long, rambling explanation of why this chapter took so long to write and get posted.**

**As always, the reviews, follows, and favorites made my day. Thanks to everyone who showed this story some love. You're amazing, all of you. *hugs***

_Oh, God. What have I done?_

About half a second after yelling at Drax I'd wanted to take it back. I wanted to run in there and apologize, beg him to forgive me, beg him to take me back—which made no sense because we'd never been together in the first place.

No, I didn't. I wanted him to hate me. If he hated me, maybe it would be easier. It'd be so much easier to pretend I didn't want him if he hated me.

Gamora had yelled at me for almost a half-hour after I'd left Drax in the common area. She hadn't just knocked and patiently waited to be invited in, she'd pried my doors open with her knife (remind me to never, _ever_ piss her off again) and told me, in precise and inventive terms, exactly how stupid I was, what kind of punishments I deserved, and what kind of ancestors I probably had in order to be such an idiot. She called Yondu as many names as she called me, which didn't bother me so much (really, she was actually right about a lot of them; he _was_ mean, honorless, lazy, and self-serving…and that was on his good days), and she made sure to inform me that she had just as low an opinion of my birth parents. After all, who goes off and lets their kid get abducted by aliens without at least trying to find them? No wonder I was such an asshole, look what kind of upbringing I'd had.

Her parting remark before she finally left me alone was, "I was raised from childhood by a man so ruthless he killed my parents right in front of me. I have been tortured in ways your tiny Terran brain couldn't even begin to comprehend. And even I would never have said the kind of things to Drax that you said."

After she left I screamed into my pillow like it might help. (It didn't.) Then I listened to the walkman for an hour, hoping that would help. (It didn't.) I wanted to be angry with her. After all, she'd just spent a good thirty minutes insulting me, my parents, Yondu, and every other person who'd had any kind of influence on my childhood. (I'm surprised she didn't drag the artists on my mixtape into it—"who talks about love like it's an addiction? No wonder you're so messed up!"—now that I thought about it.) I should have defended myself. Was it really my fault I didn't know how to deal with the emotions Drax brought out in me? It's not like I _planned_ to fall for him, it's not like I _made_ him bring me presents, it's not like I _told_ him to kiss me—okay, I had, but in my defense I hadn't been thinking clearly at the time. If it was anyone's fault it was his. Being so damn irresistible, how could anyone blame me for wanting him?

But I wasn't angry with her. I couldn't be. Because she was right, and I knew it. I was a total asshole to him. And he didn't deserve it, and if I had any integrity (which I didn't, as Gamora had taken great care to inform me) I would get up, walk out of my room, go find Drax and beg him for forgiveness that I didn't deserve. And if I had any kind of compassion, which thanks to my mother I did, I would feel incredibly awful about not doing it sooner. The alarm was going off in my head—_go to him, idiot, there's still time, you can still talk to him, you can still tell him you didn't mean it, you know how Drax is, he'll believe you, he'll understand, he'll know_—but I stayed where I was, half-afraid, half-defiant. Afraid to go out there, because I knew it wouldn't be that easy. Defiant because Gamora had all but ordered me to go apologize, and I didn't like to be told what to do.

So I stayed in my room, curled up in my bunk, for a long time. I didn't want to go out there, even though I knew I'd have to sooner or later. It was closing in on nighttime now and I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I was desperately hungry, but there was no way I was going to sneak out and get food. Not when there was a possibility of running into Gamora, who probably would actually stab me this time, or Drax—oh, God, I couldn't even imagine facing Drax. The pain I'd glimpsed in his eyes before I'd turned and fled the room was bad enough. I couldn't face it straight-on.

So yes, I was a coward. There. I could admit it. A coward. Weak. In love. Stupid. In a word—I could hear Yondu snarling it in my face now—_soft_. He was right. He'd been right all along. How could I ever have thought I could be strong enough to save the galaxy, to have a team, to be a captain—when I couldn't even deal with my own heart and soul?

I almost laughed at that thought. _Yeah, Quill. You obviously have a soul. That's why you're willing to rip apart your team out of your own selfishness. Your own inability to deal with yourself. Christ, why would Yondu even care that you left? That's right, he didn't—he cared more about the Stone than you. You're an idiot if you think he cares that you left and you're an idiot if you think anyone here would care if you left._

Maybe that was what I should have done from the beginning.

_Leave now. Do it. Get up. Pack. Put some things together, grab an escape pod and go. Sure, you'll miss the _Milano_, but you're a thief, you can get another ship. Just go._

_Just go. Leave them, before they leave you._

I pushed that last thought down, locked it in a tiny box where it belonged, and started to put my things together. They'd be better off without me.

At least, that was what I told myself.

~o~

Over the course of the next few days I planned my escape. We were scheduled to land on Xandar at the end of the week, so that was when I'd make a run for it. I'd have the knapsack that I'd had on me when I was abducted, and maybe a blaster or two. That was it, because I'd have to run. I'm not sure they'd look for me, but if I knew Rocket and Gamora (and I liked to think I did) they would chase me just for the sport of it. If Drax was still angry with me—and I hoped he was—he might give chase too, just for the sake of getting me back and hurting me like I'd hurt him. So I'd have to find a heavily-populated place, lose myself in the crowd, and run like hell.

Every night I waited until the others were asleep to sneak down to the kitchen and get some food. I remembered the heavy-limbed, foggy-headed feeling of not eating for too long. I couldn't afford to feel like that now. I needed to be able to run, and I couldn't do that if I were staggering around like a drunk. So I ate just enough to keep my strength up and hoped they didn't notice that I'd been out of my room.

On the fourth night, I was caught. I should have known it would be Drax who would catch me, but that didn't mean I didn't jump about ten feet when I turned around and saw him in the doorway. I nearly dropped the box of cereal I was holding. I almost said something, but I didn't. I'd learned by now that it was better if I didn't talk.

Drax approached me slowly, like he was stalking his prey. Me. I was the prey in this situation. I swallowed hard and braced myself for a fight. I'd seen Drax beat up six thugs at a time, but I knew I had the advantage of being smaller and, by extension, somewhat quicker than him. If nothing else I could get away before he injured me too badly. He stopped, about two feet away from me, staring at me through emotionless eyes. "So you have left your quarters. Gamora was worried. She thinks you are attempting to starve yourself again."

I licked my dry lips. "I didn't think any of you would want to see me."

"You are correct. It is well that you have stayed out of sight. Rocket is very angry with you. Gamora was concerned, but she too is ready to kick you in the buttocks, she has said so quite frequently." Any other day I would have laughed at Drax's interpretation of "kicking my ass," but now I stayed very, _very_ still as he went on, "Groot seems to have no ill feelings towards you, but I wouldn't be certain of that. And I suppose I don't have to tell you how deeply your words affected me. That was probably your intention, was it not?"

I didn't move. He was standing apart from me, close enough to get me if he really wanted to, but far away enough to avoid any kick or punch I might throw. This was the way he approached all his opponents in battle, which meant that I was in really, really big fucking trouble. I thought that maybe if I just didn't move—if I didn't say anything—didn't do anything—he would back off. That had worked on people I'd fought with in the past. Eventually they'd get bored and go find someone who'd fight back.

Buy Drax wasn't just any opponent. And he knew what I was doing, because the next thing he said was, "I will not let you go until you have answered me, Star-Lord."

Oh fuck. So we weren't even on a first-name basis anymore, was that it? I took a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah. I deserve that. I—look, just don't kill me, okay? That's all I ask."

Drax's hard, emotionless expression gave way to confusion. "I have no wish to terminate your life."

"Then what do you want from me?" Oh, no. We were back to this again. "I could say 'I'm sorry' fifty times, but you and I both know that won't make up for what I did to you."

He sighed and relaxed a little. Okay, he didn't look friendly, but he was no longer poised to throttle me, so I took that as a good sign. "At least you acknowledge your cruelty. That is a good place to begin, I suppose."

"Begin—what? No, okay, you still don't get it. There's no beginning here. Yeah, I can admit I was a jackass, and yeah, all I really did was confirm it because we all knew I was a jackass even before I flipped shit on you, but that still doesn't change anything." I clutched the cereal against me, as if it could act as a shield, and told him, "Don't mistake _I'm sorry_ for _I love you._ They're two totally different things."

"And contrary to what you seem to believe, I do understand that." He paused and took a step closer. "You, however, seem to have formed the concept in your mind that if you show me even the slightest tenderness, I will turn on you."

"It's not like that!" I snapped, forgetting the danger of the situation. He might've calmed down a little, but he could still kill me if he wanted to. "I was nice to you before, wasn't I?"

"Your treatment of me mirrored your treatment of our other teammates. Then we began to develop affections for one another and everything changed…tell me, Star-Lord, what is it that you believe will happen if we were to form a partnership? You say you don't expect me to turn on you, yet your words in the past say otherwise—I believe what you said exactly was, 'you can hurt me whether you mean to or not,' am I wrong?"

Oh, fuck. He remembered that. "I'm not talking about that."

"Oh, yes, you are. You are not leaving this room until you tell me what you meant by that."

He and I both knew he could keep me there. It was no use pretending I could get away any time I wanted. Even if I could physically beat him (and, okay, there was a chance I could, but the odds weren't on my side), I would have stayed. Because I needed this, just these last few moments with him before the end of the week came and I'd have to leave him forever. So I sucked it up and said, "I'm just waiting for the day you—and, well, everyone else on this ship—figures out that I'm not worth sticking around for."

"And I await the day you come to understand that we value you whether you know it or not."

This was going nowhere. "Drax, look…you can tell me that all day and all night, but I'm never going to believe it. It's like telling someone who thinks they're ugly that they're beautiful. They'll never believe you, so what's the point?"

"Maybe someday they will."

"Well, I won't."

He stepped aside so I could pass by him. I took that to mean _conversation over,_ and gratefully slipped past him, headed for the safety of my own room. But he still called after me, and I still stopped to listen because I couldn't help myself: "I still love you, Peter Quill."

For a second I stood there, fighting the urge to turn around and run back to him. I wanted to say _I love you too._ Instead I said, "Yeah, well, you shouldn't," and got the hell away from him before I could do any more damage.

~o~

I was packing when I heard someone pounding on my door. "Quill, you'd better open up." Gamora. A very pissed-off Gamora, from the sounds of it. She'd been coming around every day since our initial confrontation, and if I didn't open the door she would stand there and tell me through the wall how badly I'd fucked up and how if I didn't come out of there right now and talk to Drax she was going to do something very bad when I did come out.

"No thanks. I like being alive too much." I put my headphones on and cued up the tape.

"I will break in if you don't open the door. You have to the count of—"

Oh, this was just too much. Couldn't she go one day without doing this, without reminding me how horrible I was? I didn't need her help with that, thanks! I could do it on my own!

Enough was enough. I set aside my walkman, stormed over to the door, and wrenched it open so violently I almost yanked it off its tracks. "Why? Why should I even bother? I already know what you're going to say!" She jumped back—I think I'd surprised her, because otherwise she'd already have me on my back, totally disarmed—and I went on, "I know you're going to tell me I'm an asshole! Well guess what? I already know that, Gamora! I already know what a total and complete fuckup I am! You don't have to tell me anything, because _I already know!_" The words just kept coming out, no matter how badly I wanted them to stop. "I _know_ I hurt Drax, okay? I know it! I can't fucking think about anything else! You think I wouldn't take it back if I could? Because I would! I'd take it back in a fucking heartbeat, if only to keep all of you from giving me those _I'm going to kill you _looks, but guess what, I can't! I can't take it back and _I'm sorry_, but it's done, it's too late, and glowering at me 24/7 isn't going to change anything, so if you aren't going to do or say anything helpful, then just _go away and let me fucking die, okay_?"

"Peter…" Gamora looked nervously down the hall, and then back at me. "Peter," she began again, but stopped. She kept shooting quick, nervous looks over her shoulder.

"Oh for the _love_—" I pushed past her into the hallway and froze in my tracks when I saw who she was looking at.

Drax.

"Did you mean it?" he asked quietly. "Would you really take back the unkind things you said to me, if you could?"

_Yes. Yes. Yes. I would take it back, I would take it all back, just come over here, just fucking kiss me, tell me you forgive me, take me back—_

"No," I snapped. "I just said that to get Gamora off my back. Now go away, both of you." I forced my way past Gamora, got back into my room, slammed and locked the door.

Unfortunately, the doors weren't soundproof. So I could hear it with perfect clarity when Drax said to Gamora, "Did you hear what he said?"

"Yes," she replied, exasperated. "He's an idiot, I've been trying to talk him around, but—"

"No, not that—the last thing he said to you."

"Oh…_oh_!" Gamora sounded panicked—a rare emotion for her—and I mentally scrambled to recall what Drax was talking about.

And then it hit me.

_Oh, fuck. They think I'm suicidal._

I hadn't meant to say _go away and let me die_, it had just, like so many other stupid things I said, slipped out. But now I'd have to deal with it. I should have stopped, calmly unlocked the door, and let them see that I was okay and that I had no intention of killing myself. Instead, I did the first thing that popped into my head: _give them all your weapons. Just put them out in the hall. If they see that they'll know you're okay, you just want to be alone. That'll make them go away._

I started rummaging around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. My blasters were the first to go, obviously, but I also had some knives—minor, easily-concealed ones, not the bigger, more damaging kind that Gamora and Drax used—and a couple of smaller, last-resort guns that Rocket had made for me a few weeks ago. As an afterthought I added my slingshot (how I could've used it on myself was beyond me, but I figured they'd feel better if I didn't have anything remotely dangerous in the room with me), and the remnants of a couple of bottles of alcohol that I'd kept hidden from Rocket, who had an annoying tendency to steal the best stuff from the kitchen before the rest of us had a crack at it.

All the while I could hear the irritating chorus of Gamora and Drax outside, pounding my door and demanding—no, _begging_—that I open up.

"Peter, _please_—"

"We will break in the door if we must!"

"Just open the door, Peter, we won't hurt you, we promise—"

"You cannot harm yourself, who would lead us?"

I stopped and thought that one over for a second. _Really? That's a good one, considering that you haven't even wanted me for a leader since our altercation over the cassette tape._

"Peter, we just want to talk to you, please!"

Okay, enough was enough. I opened the door so forcibly that both Drax and Gamora moved away in surprise, kicked my weapons pile out the door, and glared at them defiantly. "There! Happy now? There's everything in my room I could possibly use to hurt myself! See? It's all right there! I can't possibly do anything now, right? Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted? Proof that I'm not going to fucking go away, so you guys can keep hating on me to your heart's content?" Much to my shame, my voice broke as I forced out, "I don't even know why you want me around anyway, all I ever do is fuck up. I wish I'd never met any of you. I wish Ronan had killed me with that fucking stone. I wish—"

In the middle of wish #3, my brain turned to soup. I was too angry, too hurt, too disgusted with myself, too _everything_. I couldn't take it anymore. I knew I was going to cry and I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop myself and I was going to break down in front of them—

I felt a strong pair of arms close around me. I fought hard, hating the idea of being restrained, but the arms were relentless and I felt myself being pulled towards an equally-strong body. I heard the rhythmic pounding of Drax's heart and I went still, as a low, soothing voice worked its way to my ears. "You're safe, Peter. You're safe. I'm here. You'll be all right. You are not alone, I promised I'd never leave you side and I'm here. You are safe. Lean on me."

A hand wove its way into my hair, twisting, stroking, gently tugging here and there—and I swear nothing else had ever felt so good. Against my will I relaxed against him, and it was only when my wet face slicked against the bare skin of his chest that I realized I was crying. I panicked—he couldn't see me cry!—and started fighting him again, but he wouldn't let me go. "Shh. Shh. You are okay. You are safe. Stay here. Stay with me. I've got you." The same hand left my hair and began to rub circles on my back, keeping up a steady rhythm until I gave in and let him cradle me in those strong, warm arms.

I realized, almost absently, that my feet had left the ground and understood that he was carrying me now. I didn't care where he took me; I was beyond caring. I let my head fall against his shoulder. The door slid shut. Gamora was gone, I didn't know how I knew that, but I did. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm awful, don't go, please don't go, I'm so sorry, Drax, oh my God, I'm so sorry…please, don't leave me."

"I will not leave you. How many times must I tell you this?"

I felt something soft underneath me and realized we were lying down. I should have pulled away then, but I didn't. Instead I leaned against him and allowed my body to melt into his. Oh, God, this felt so good. How had I ever lived without him, how had I ever managed to survive one day without feeling him touch me? "Don't go," I said again, because I knew I deserved for him to walk out on me and I also knew I would die if he did.

"Never," he promised, and kissed my forehead again. The sweetness of that one gesture undid me completely. I cried myself to sleep in his arms, too far gone to think about how thoroughly I was going to regret this when I recovered.

~o~

[Drax]

As I watched him sleep I couldn't help but wonder which incarnation of Peter Quill I would speak to when he awoke. Would it be the sweet one, the kind-hearted one whom I truly loved, the one who was not afraid to let me touch him, the one who spoke so openly to me about the loss of his mother? Or would it be the angry, volatile one who pushed me away, looked at me as though I were a clot of dirt, told me such cruel things just so he could see me in pain? I wished I could look into the future, so I could prepare myself in advance.

How small and vulnerable he looked now, with tear tracks drying on his flushed face, curled inward as though bracing himself for an oncoming strike. His face looked so innocent, almost childlike…until he twitched in his sleep and a distressed look came over his face. I lightly stroked his back and whispered something comforting in his ear, and he relaxed again. I could have disentangled my body from his and escaped his room. Instead I kept both arms around him and held him against me. I was determined to be there when he woke. I was not going to let him think, as Gamora had warned me, that I had abandoned him.

A moment later Gamora appeared in the doorway. "Are you all right?"

"I am," I told her quietly, hoping I wouldn't wake him. "And so is he."

She scowled in Peter's direction. "I'm not sure if I feel relieved that he didn't hurt himself, or furious that he made us worry like that…Drax, this can't go on, you know this can't go on."

"Let me take care of him."

"And if he doesn't let you?"

I looked down at Peter. He hadn't moved, so I presumed he could not hear us. I saw, again, how helpless he looked like this. I should have been furious with him. Instead I felt a deep, unrelenting need, an unquenchable desire, to protect him with everything I had. "I will make him."

"If you think you can." Gamora looked at him thoughtfully. "I wonder what happened to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, none of us on this ship are the way we are by accident. Thanos made me who I am…and I suppose, by extension, he made you who you are too, by having Ronan kill your family. And while nothing _seems _to bother Groot, you notice he only started openly displaying his feelings for Rocket after he—well, for all intents and purposes, after he died and came back to life—so you know that what happened on the _Dark Aster_ affected him, even if he doesn't show it much. As for Rocket, well, I'm amazed he hasn't gone on a killing spree yet, with everything he went through at that lab, and then thinking he'd lost the only person to ever matter to him. None of us have had an easy time, that's a fact. And I thought Peter was, as he puts it, less messed-up than the rest of us, but now I'm starting to wonder…what happened to make him think that he's not allowed to love, or even be loved?"

I thought I knew the answer. But I had promised Peter I wouldn't tell, so all I said to Gamora was, "I believe it had something to do with the man who raised him."

Gamora nodded slowly. "I thought so too, but…oh, I don't know. Peter _says_ Yondu never hit him and I believe him, but…but Yondu didn't seem like the kindest person in the galaxy, if you see what I'm saying. And when you told me what he said to you, about not loving you…all I can think is that it just isn't like him. Peter is bold, yes, and he's not afraid to speak his mind, and he can be downright idiotic sometimes with how reckless he is. But cruel? That has never been a trait that I have known Peter Quill to possess."

"Perhaps it is his surrogate father's influence coming out in him?" I suggested.

"I think it goes deeper than that, but…I don't even know anymore. All I know is that we _can't_ go on like this. He's miserable, you're miserable…we can't even do missions because you two can't even pretend to act like professionals…and then as if that's not enough we've got Rocket and Groot to worry about…I don't even know what to do anymore. All I know is that we keep getting calls and turning them down, and if we don't start taking jobs again we're going to lose our reputation and have to start over."

"Give me one or two more days to deal with Peter. If he is still out of commission in two days' time, you may deal with him as you see fit," I promised her.

"I can't guarantee that won't include one or two good punches to the face."

"As you see fit," I repeated. "But let me have a little more time."

She sighed and shook her head. "Honestly, Drax, I'm more worried about you than him at this point. I know you love him—I don't pretend to understand romantic love, but I know it's what you feel for him, and I'll always support you on that—but you must understand by now that it's not going to be easy. He's been hurt, I don't know who or what hurt him, but whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant. No matter what you do, he's going to keep lashing out at you. You can't change him. You _have_ to know that…don't you?"

"I don't care. I promised to stay by his side, and I will keep that promise even if it destroys me."

Gamora looked down at the floor. When she looked back at me, her eyes looked bright, and I realized that they were filled with unshed tears. I was too surprised to speak—I had never seen her cry before. "If that's how you feel, I won't try to interfere." Her expression hardened, and she added, "But if he hurts you again, I can't promise I won't be rough with him."

"That is entirely your prerogative. All I ask is that you let me have one more chance to make him understand."

"Consider it done." She straightened up and gave me one quick smile before she turned around and left.

I turned my attention back to Peter, who was still sleeping peacefully in my arms. He looked sweet like this. Sweet and small and _mine_. The fierce desire to protect him reared within me again, and I tightened my grip on him. He nestled against me, and I tensed just a little—was he awake?—but he didn't open his eyes, so I relaxed. Very carefully, I inched one hand up his back and stroked his hair. He sighed in his sleep and let his head fall against my chest. I felt warm inside, and despite the anxiety over what he would be like when he awakened, I was content with where I was now.

For days now, I had been unable to rid myself of the dull ache in my chest that his harsh words had caused. For days I had felt that sense of loss, like something I really needed, something absolutely vital, was missing and I couldn't find it no matter where I looked. Now that Peter was in my arms again I knew I had found it. It was him. And whether or not he was ready to hear me say this, I knew that my life was not complete without him in it.

He slept for several hours before awakening. In that time I eventually dozed off myself, too tired from the eventful day to stay awake. What woke me up was the feeling of his body twisting wildly against mine, the sounds of his soft cries, a low moan spilling from his mouth. I heard my name as he shivered against me—"Drax, no, not him, I'll do anything, please, don't, Drax, no, no, _NO_!"

I sat up and shook him awake. "Peter. _Peter_. Wake up, it is only a dream, you are safe—look at me, please—"

His eyes snapped open and immediately locked on mine. He looked so frightened that I knew he was still half-asleep, most likely thinking of the dream. I wondered exactly what had been happening in that dream to make him so afraid, but before I could ask he threw his arms around my neck, pulled me down to him, pressed his body so closely against mine it was as if he wished for us to become one person, and—I almost couldn't believe it—he kissed me.

And so I did the only logical thing I could do, and kissed him back.


	12. Chapter 11

**So, here is the requested attempt at writing a Rocket POV. There's probably enough summary of their backstory here to do an entire fanfic, and I might just write that, someday, because holy crap do I ever have headcanons about how they met…but for now just enjoy the Grocket cuddliness (I'm ready to write some fluff, dammit!) at the end of the "Rocket" section. As for Peter and Drax…well. You'll see. ;)**

**Shout-outs to everyone who reviewed. You guys keep me going! *hearts***

[Rocket POV]

The first time I met him was the day after I ran away. I was still on Half World, still hiding under trash cans and in storm drains to keep them from finding me, and I was torn between hating the world and giving into the crushing terror that adrenaline could only cover for so long. He was a prisoner, too. Some space pirates had figured out that he could crush people with a single branch and they forced him to work for them. They had tortured him, kept him pinned down in cold, dry, dark places for long hours until he did what they wanted with the promise of a little sunlight and some water. I wouldn't know any of that until later, though.

All I would know, at first, was a pair of deep-brown, almost black eyes—beautiful eyes—looking at me with the first compassion I had ever been shown. I was hiding behind a dumpster, peeking out at the giant walking tree and wondering if I should run or if I should try and attack it before it attacked me. But it didn't attack me. Just stared at me with those beautiful, sad eyes and knelt down, offering a wooden hand so big I could easily use it for a seat.

When he finally spoke to me he said "I am Groot," and somehow I understood he wasn't just telling me his name. He was saying,_ trust me, I am your friend._ He was saying, _it's okay, I'm a prisoner too_.

I wanted to believe him so badly. "What do you want with me?" I demanded, still not taking the hand he offered. How did I know he wasn't working for Half World's labs? How did I know he wasn't going to take me back there?

Slowly, carefully—so I wouldn't get scared, I assumed—he put out a single wooden finger and stroked one ear. I was surprised at how gentle he was, and how good his touch made me feel. For the first time I felt hope. Here, at last, was someone who didn't want anything from me, who was trying to comfort me instead of change me. "I am Groot." And I understood what he was saying, with perfect clarity: _Escape with me_.

"Yeah, and exactly how do you think we're gonna do that?"

He pointed to a parked ship not ten yards away. I wondered if it belonged to one of his captors. "I am Groot." _I don't know how to fly it. If you do, we can get away._

"Yeah, I think I can. Want me to try?"

He nodded. "I am Groot."

"Then let's go. I got a couple guns. You got any weapons on you?" He shook his head. "Got any units?" Another head shake. "Me either. Let's hope whoever's left their ride parked left a cube or two in the passenger's seat."

It was a small ship. Kind of a junker, really. Not a lot of space, just a couple of bunks and a tiny, badly-stocked galley. Not even a real kitchen or anything. And very, very little storage space. But there were a couple of credit cubes, which I thought would come in handy. Groot confirmed that it belonged to one of the pirates who'd kidnapped him, but didn't offer any more details. I just started the thing up (it was really pretty easy—way easier than the puzzles my captors had tried to make me solve) and we took off. If the pirates noticed us flying off, I didn't care. No one shot at us. We just went away.

We got out of Half World and found ourselves on this weird-ass planet in the middle of nowhere that was all pink and fluffy and sweet—basically everything I was not. Groot loved it though, because it was as sunshiny as you could possibly get and there was a convenience store where you could buy water in these big gallon jugs. That was when I learned that he'd been tortured by his captors and, for all intents and purposes, starved.

The first act of kindness that I ever performed was done for his sake. I agreed to stay there until we'd caught our breath and learned to be on our own. I told him I'd find someone to scam off of and he could be rid of me within the week. I never planned on having him for a partner. I told him we'd get a good racket going, maybe. Scam some people on that planet for vacation. Maybe we'd rob a couple of places outright. We'd split the profits and be on our merry way.

Instead I slowly, steadily found myself growing attached to him. The way he looked at me, like I was something to be protected instead of something to be ripped apart—the way he held onto me like I might die if he let go, the way he kept me from cutting out my implants in the moments of deepest self-hatred—the way he said my name, the way he thought my name in that peculiar, inflection-based language of his. He was the first to call me Rocket. At that time he was the only one in the galaxy who had never addressed me as Subject 89P13. I think that, in the end, was what got me. He didn't see me as a thing. He saw me as a person—and I was deeply ashamed of how much that meant to me.

In the end we left Candyfornia together, because I learned quickly that the nightmares of being captured and dissected were easier to endure when I used his broad wooden chest as a pillow, and that in the throes of a panic attack, the only thing that could calm me were those beautiful lights he could release, and that when the implants ached—and they ached a lot, believe me—the only way to make them go away was to let him rub my back. "But I'm not sharing units with you. We both pull our own weight and don't you forget it," I warned him.

We went to Xandar and started bounty hunting. Initially we each took our own jobs. Then we were both hired by the same guy, who thought "friendly competition" would stimulate his hunters to find his target faster. What he didn't know was that Groot and I were friends already. We teamed up and scammed the guy, pretending we didn't know each other and each of us threatening his life if he didn't give us what we wanted. We got double the reward money that way.

The next day, he had us both arrested. The security was way looser than Half World's, but it still took us a couple of days to break out. At night Groot would make a cocoon around me with his vines and branches, so no one could try and hurt me. I'm about 99.9% sure I'd have been raped if he hadn't been there—there were plenty of psychos in there who licked their lips when I walked by, excited at the idea of bedding an "exotic" species like me; none of them had ever seen anything like me before. They'd never seen anything like Groot either, but when he snapped the neck of a guy who leered at me, they quickly got the message that he was not to be messed with. And, by extension, neither was I.

The day Groot came back into a burning building to get me out of there was the day I realized that no matter how many people I killed (Groot didn't like killing, unless it was to protect either me or himself), how many times I called him an idiot for doing things like drinking from public fountains or chasing butterflies instead of helping me catch the target, or how often I lost myself in panic attacks or flashbacks that led me to punch him or attempt to shoot him (sometimes, when I was really out of it, I'd think he was a security guard or lab assistant from Half World), he was not going anywhere. I was stuck with him. And he was not going to leave me no matter what I did. He was willing to die for me. No one else in the galaxy would have done what he did—at least, I was sure no one would—but he did it, he risked his life for me. I knew that there were very few things that scared Groot and fire was one of them. But he faced it down. _For me._

The day I realized I felt the same was when I had to go into a factory lab, where they made plant food and different types of fertilizers, to get something that he needed. We'd been in a cold-ass dark planet for way too long, trying to catch a target who thrived in cold, dark, damp places. I'd been shivering like crazy, but Groot was half-starved, having been without sunlight for far too long. I was afraid he would die, and then where would I be? Alone again? No, I couldn't have that. I told myself that was why I was doing this. Selfish reasons. I needed my bodyguard, after all. So I broke into that cold, awful place, lit all up with fluorescent lights and staffed by people in the same horrible lab coats who'd made me what I was, and forced myself to deal with the nausea and dizziness and general feeling of panic as I worked my way into the lab, stole the plant feed, and got the hell out of there.

I'll never forget the look on his face when I brought it to him, though. So fucking happy, like I'd just got down on one knee and asked the idiot to marry me. He asked me, later, _did you do that for me?_ And I said no, I did it for me. I couldn't go without my muscle, after all; he was usually the one to save my ass when our missions went south, not the other way around. He didn't even look disappointed. Looking back, I think he knew I didn't mean it. He said _thank you_ and I just said yeah, yeah, whatever, I didn't do it for you, I did it for me, now go eat it and shut up you big stump.

Thing is, our relationship was unbalanced from the start. Groot was easy to take care of. Give him some water and sunlight, let him cuddle me when he felt lonely, and that was it. But I was the messy one, the one who had obsessive-compulsive tendencies (but he never complained about how many times I had to pull apart the guns and put them back together _just right_), the one who screamed in his sleep and had furniture-wrecking tantrums when triggered, the one who could probably not have survived on his own. I was the one who screamed at Groot, the one who beat him up (or tried to—we both knew that physically he could have snapped me in half, but he never did), the one who, on some occasions, tried to kill him—and yet I was the one he chose to trust, to protect.

To _love_.

The first time he said _we are Groot_ instead of _I am Groot_, my heart almost stopped. Because that meant _I love you._ "I am Groot" could translate to so many things…but _we are Groot_? That only meant one thing. And just the way he said it…I knew what he meant.

_I love you._

At the time I brushed it off. "You always were the sentimental type," I teased him. "Next thing I know you'll be telling me we should stop killing or something."

But he said it again when he—sacrificed himself, God, I still didn't like to think about that—and at the time I was convinced he was dying, and as I sat in the middle of the wreckage, holding that twig, all I could think was _you blew it, you could've said something, anything, other than "you'll die"—like he didn't already know that, moron—and you could have said "I don't think you're an idiot," or "You saved my life," or "I'll never forget everything you've done for me"—but no, he'll never know how much you trusted him, how much you cared for him. You blew it, Rocket. You know you did._

I kicked myself until the day I saw that little face appear in the twig. Okay, so I hadn't blown it, and now it was my chance to protect him, to repay him for everything he'd done for me. So I did, keeping him close to my side, leaving him out of the way when we went on missions, letting him hang out with Quill as often as he wanted (even though I really hated the idea of him liking anyone more than me—stupid and possessive as that was, I didn't want to share my best friend, but I never let him see that), keeping his little pot next to me when I slept in case he needed me in the middle of the night. I wouldn't let myself think of it in terms of being in love with him—in the first place I could never actually tell him that; in the second place it was seriously squicky to admit I had a thing for a sapling, even if I knew what he was like fully grown—but as he quickly grew back to full height I realized I couldn't deny it.

The day he was fully grown and I could scale up his side and sit on his shoulder again was probably the second-best day of my life. We invaded Ekos and it was horrifying—I'm about as desensitized to civilian death as it's possible to be, and I _still_ cringed when I heard the screams of the people we couldn't save—but if I was honest, it felt really, _really_ good to have him fighting by my side again. Even if we lost. Even if I almost got nailed, like, thirty-five times by the fucking army we were trying to fight—even with all that, it still felt amazing just to be there with him again.

Later on when Quill pulled his I-should-starve-for-my-failures crap, I watched helplessly, no idea what the hell I should do, while Groot restrained him the way he'd so often restrained me when I talked about hurting myself. Groot, unlike me, recognized the signs and how to intervene. But Quill yelled at him, and I hated him for it—until Groot reminded me that I'd tried to kill him before, when he tried to ease me through a panic attack. I forgave Quill later, but only because he apologized for yelling at Groot. If he hadn't, I probably would have been much harsher with him than I was—which I knew was damn hypocritical of me, considering how often I trash-talked myself, but I'd never admit that to Quill.

What almost forced me to show my hand and admit that, yes, I did have feelings for the big log was that he started to show the same protectiveness of Peter Quill that had formerly been reserved for me. Trying to restrain him after Ekos, so he wouldn't hurt himself. Blocking access to the training room when he thought the idiot might overwork himself. Trying to make sure Quill got enough to eat. That was supposed to be what he did for _me_, not for stupid _Star-Lord_. I got jealous. I yelled at him a couple of times, then immediately demanded forgiveness, which he always gave. Not that he wasn't used to my violent mood swings or foul language by now—it was kind of a prerequisite to being friends with me—but I still felt guilty.

Then I found out I wasn't alone. I found out that one of the huge contributing factors to Quill's never-ending stupidity was because he had a massive crush on Drax—but was way too fucking terrified to tell him, whether out of fear of getting hurt or fear of hurting Drax I couldn't tell. I all but admitted to him that I had feelings for Groot (but I was not planning on telling him anytime soon, _thankyouverymuch_), and we bonded, if you could call it that, over the fact that we were both in love with people who deserved much better than us.

The fact that I'd told someone made it real. And much, _much_ scarier. Which I guess is why, when the moment came, and Groot bluntly told me "We are Groot" in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding, I panicked.

"Yeah? You've said that before. What do you expect me to do differently this time?"

_Say it back?_

"'We are Groot,'" I mocked. "There, you happy?"

He looked annoyed, a rare look for Groot. _You know that's not what I mean._

"Well, that's about all you're gonna get from me." I was looking for a way out of this. Some way that I could imply that yes, I felt the same way, but no, I wouldn't admit it under pain of death. "Maybe I just don't feel it, ever thought of that? Maybe I just—y'know, maybe I just keep you around because you're tough enough to save my ass when it comes to that."

_We're friends, aren't we?_

"Partners," I corrected him. "That's it. You're only hurting yourself if you think we're ever gonna be more than that." And the second it was out of my mouth I regretted it. Instead of taking it back, though, I ran like hell, got wasted with Quill, and spilled his secrets to Drax when he scared the shit out of me by having some kind of weird breakdown while we were drunk. (Fucker deserved it for scaring me like that, in my opinion.)

I guess I should've been easier on Quill when he told Drax to fuck off. I mean, yeah, I knew how it felt to love someone, and to know they love you back, but to also hate your own existence to the point where you _know_ they deserve better than you, you _know_ you're just selfless enough to let them go if they'd just _let you_, but they don't. But it's easy to be angry at someone else, because sometimes—this was the case with me, anyway—it's easier to call someone else an idiot when you know it's really you.

So I complained to Groot, to Gamora, to anyone who'd listen about how Quill was breaking up our team. And if he didn't stop soon, I was going to push him out the airlock, shoot him with one of the weapons I'd invented, sic Groot on him and let him get the crap beat out of him. Not that I'd ever do any of it, but I wanted to send the message that I wasn't putting up with Quill's crap. Because see, I understood to a point, but after a while it just got annoying because _really_? Cocky, cute, conventionally-attractive Peter Quill, with low self-esteem? It sounded more like a whining plea for attention than anything else. What could possibly have happened to him to make him hurt like that? Whatever it was, it couldn't be half as bad as being dissected, healed, and then dissected again day after day. I was sure of that. So I was annoyed, and I thought rightfully so. If Quill wanted to be a baby, he'd better at least have a good reason for it.

One day I heard a commotion and, as I always do, strayed towards it, only to find myself caught up in a pair of wooden arms and hauled off down the hallway. "What?" I demanded, trying to push him off. "What's wrong with you? Can't you hear that? They might need us."

_No. You are not going there right now._ He kept a tight grip on me. _Peter is talking of hurting himself._

"So what? He does that a lot. Let me _down_, I want to go see—"

_He said he wishes Ronan killed him and he's thrown his weapons out of his room. Drax is with him. They should be alone._

Now, here's the thing about me and Groot. Anyone else would have heard that and thought, well, what does one have to do with the other? But I immediately got it. Groot was connecting Drax and Quill to…well, to us. Comparing Quill's little temper tantrum to my panic attacks, comparing Drax's attempts to comfort him to all the times he'd been forced into the role of my caretaker. It made me mad, for reasons I couldn't pinpoint. "So what?" I said again. "That's not the same thing at all, I actually got reasons to—"

_So does Peter._

"And how the fuck do _you_ know?"

_I don't know exactly. I just know he has reasons. Don't hate him._

"I don't hate him, you big stump. Just—just don't compare that to our stuff, okay? It's not the same at all, it's—" What I wanted to say was, _it's not the same as when you keep me from doing something stupid like shooting myself, or when you make the implants stop hurting, or when you help me remember where I am and that I'm safe when I think I'm back on fucking Half World. It's not the same, it's not as special, don't let me think it is_—what I said instead was, "Quill's just being a baby."

Soft vines crept up and ran through my fur. I almost didn't realize this until it was happening. "Hey. _Hey_, Put away the vines," I warned him. "Not up for cuddling right now."

_I want a hug._ He gave me the biggest puppy eyes I'd ever seen and, okay, I can never resist him when he looks at me like that.

"Oh, fine. Pick me up then, you damn log." I let him scoop me into his arms and pressed my face against his chest. "Remind me again why I keep you around?"

"We are Groot," he replied simply. The way he said it was so matter-of-fact, like it didn't really mean much. But the way he locked his arms around me as he said it? That spoke volumes.

It was the fourth time he'd ever said it to me and I should have reacted the same way I did every other time. Indifferent. Purposefully oblivious. Or, the worst of all, outright lying. Instead I gave up. Reached up and awkwardly patted the wooden face that absolutely lit up when I said, "Yeah, yeah. I know. Not sure why, 'cause it's pretty obvious you could do way better."

He squeezed me tighter. _I only want you._

"Well, there's your first mistake right there," I sighed. But I made no attempt to get away. "You sure about that?"

_I always have been._

"Okay, later I'm going to ask you why. Right now I don't feel like it though. Just don't…tell anyone yet, okay? Let Quill deal with his shit first." I couldn't help but smile, just a little, as I added, "Holy shit. This whole damn ship is turning into some trashy romance novel."

_I don't think we're anything like that._

"Yeah, I know, but you gotta admit there are parallels. Tragic love stories and all that. But whatever. If you don't mind, I don't mind. Just don't expect too much."

_I don't. I do want to hear you say it back, though._

"I can't yet, okay? Just give me a little time. Be patient…you're good at that."

He cuddled me against his chest and if anyone else had done that, they would've got a square punch to the face and maybe a good bite or two in some unmentionable places. But because it was Groot, I didn't pull away. And I should have gotten down and walked away when he said "We are Groot" again, but I didn't. I didn't say it back—but I at least admitted I liked to hear him say it, and that was a start.

I was still cradled in his arms when the first blast rocked the _Milano_.

~o~

[Peter]

_I am paralyzed, held by two Kree, one of whom is pressing a needle into my arm. They are so strong I can't hope to fight them off. I could, usually, but now I can't, my limbs are so heavy and I can barely breathe. I can't even reach for my blaster—I don't even know where it is. Drax is on his knees, face turned defiantly towards the man standing over him. The man to whom life is only a bargaining chip._

"_You will wield it for me, or you will watch him die," Ronan tells me, pointing his hammer at Drax._

_I fight against the men holding me. I ignore Ronan and focus on the man I love. "I swear," I tell him, my voice shaking so hard it's barely recognizable as my own, "I will get us out of this if it's the last thing I do."_

_He sounds so calm when he speaks, his voice so soothing I almost forget our current position. "Do not give him what he wants. My life is not worth the universe, Peter."_

"_It is to me," I choke, struggling as hard as I can—which is not very hard—against the Kree._

_Ronan smirks. "The drugs are working, I see," he says coolly. "Now then, Terran, if you will—"_

_He tries to put the glowing purple gem in my hands, but I clench my fists and refuse to take it. His gaze hardens. "Very well, have it your way."_

"_No," I cry out as his hammer raises, glinting in the dim light, so dangerous, so cruel—no, he can't do this, he can't take Drax from me, he can't, he can't! The hammer starts to swing—"No, I'll do it!" I scream—too late, the hammer comes crashing down and I can't stop the screams, Drax, no, not him, I'll do anything, please, don't, Drax, no, no—_

"_No!_"

"Peter. _Peter_. Wake up, it is only a dream, you are safe—look at me, please—"

I knew that voice.

My eyes suddenly opened, almost involuntarily, and I sucked in a lungful of oxygen. Oh, God. Air. I loved air, it was the best thing ever—well. Apart from the man leaning over me. The most incredible, forgiving, sexy, beautiful man I had ever seen. Oh, my God, those eyes—so blue, so _perfect_—staring right through me, right into my soul, oh God, oh God how I loved him. And suddenly the only thing that mattered to me anymore was making sure he knew it.

My body went on autopilot. My arms locked around him, my body straining wildly against his as I pulled his ridiculously beautiful face towards mine. _If he doesn't want me,_ I thought as I felt his arms close around me, _he can push me away…if he tells me to stop, I'll stop._ But he didn't tell me to stop.

When we kissed it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like waves crashing against the shore, like the sun rising over the horizon, like lightning striking the earth. If he was still angry with me, he didn't show it in the way he held me against him. He practically devoured me, pinning me down to my bunk and forcing his way into my mouth. I didn't stop him, didn't push him away. I kissed him with all I had, kissed him like I'd never have the chance to do it again. I didn't care what it meant or if I'd regret it later. All I cared about was that he was _here_.

We stopped to breathe. "Don't ever leave me," I gasped, my heart pounding and my hands locked behind his neck. "Please, whatever you do, _don't go_."

His hands reached around, gripped my wrists, and pinned both my hands down to the mattress, over my head. "Never tell me you don't love me again."

"I won't—I'm sorry—I lied to you, I lied, I love you, I love you more than anything, I'm a fucking idiot for not seeing it sooner—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you. I love you and I meant it when I said I need you. I'm so sorry, I don't deserve you, I really don't deserve you but please, please don't leave me, please don't die, I'll never let you out of my sight again if that's what it takes just _don't die_—"

"Wait." He released my hands and carefully wrapped his arms around me again. I leaned my head against his chest, enjoying the very real sound of his heartbeat. "Is that what you saw in your nightmare? My death?"

I pressed my face against his skin. "Ronan killed you. But it doesn't matter, it wasn't real, thisis real—" I froze mid-sentence and looked up at him. "This _is_ real, isn't it? We're—we're both here, aren't we? Did I die too?"

"No!" He rolled us over so that I was underneath him. "No," he repeated, as his mouth lowered to my neck. "No—no—_no_"—between words he pressed scorching kisses to my neck that left me gasping and thrusting against him—"you are awake, you are with me, you are safe, I am alive." He bit down hard and then flicked over the bite with his tongue, pulling a loud, drawn-out moan from me. "Can you feel that? Does _that_ feel real?"

"Yes, God yes," I moaned. "Touch me again—I don't care how—just—let me feel you, let me feel that you're here—please—"

His hands dived beneath my clothes, ruthlessly caressing the most sensitive parts of my skin, leaving me a trembling mess. Oh my God. Oh my _God,_ how the _fuck_ had I ever lived without this? I mean, yeah, I'd had sex before. Sex was great, I loved sex, but this? This was different. This was intense. This was _everything_. His teeth sank into my neck, and my eyes rolled back into my head. "Yes, right there," I moaned, and my hips involuntarily bucked against his.

He grabbed both hands and pinned them over my head. "Promise me you will let me look after you."

"I promise." I probably would have promised him my soul in that moment.

He ground his hips against mine, causing me to emit a sound that was so embarrassing I would later cringe over the memory of it. "Promise me you will not push me away again."

"I promise," I gasped. "I promise, I never—I won't—just—"

He wasn't done. His fingernails scraped against the delicate underside of my wrists, while he ground down against me again. The result was a jolt of pleasure that made me cry out. "Promise me you will never lie to me again."

"I promise," I choked out. "Oh my God, I promise, I will fucking literally do anything you want. Anything. I will do anything you want. I promise."

His teeth found my neck again and I nearly screamed. "Never again allow anyone but me into your bed," he growled into my ear.

"Yes, only you, _only you_," I breathed, struggling against his impossibly tight grip. "Anything. I mean it. Anything. You can have anything you want, just—just _don't stop._"

He shut me up by kissing me. "You—are—_mine_," he whispered between kisses, and I gave in completely, allowing him to take me over, allowing him complete control over me. If he wanted me, he could have me. I vowed then and there that the rest of my life would be spent making up for treating him so badly. Anything he wanted he could have. If he wanted to dominate me, he could. If he wanted monogamy, well fuck it, I was all his. If he wanted to torture me to insanity by doing _that _with his tongue—_oh my fucking God yes_—I wouldn't stop him. Never again. I was never, ever going to stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted with me again.

We were wearing far fewer clothes, and he was exploring the back of my knee, when I felt the ground move. And oh, how I wished that were a euphemism. He froze, his mouth still pressed against my thigh. "Did you—" he began, but another blast rocked the ship before he could say it.

Oh, no. We could not be under attack. Not now. This just wasn't fair.

But another blast rocked the _Milano_, and I knew it wasn't just Rocket's driving. Hell, Rocket was a better pilot than I was, we could probably have gone through an asteroid minefield and come out on the other side without so much as as a scratch when he was behind the wheel.

"We're under attack," I realized. "Okay. Off. Get off. We gotta move."

In about ten seconds we were up, dressed, and running for the cockpit. Rocket, as I'd expected, was at the controls (and, also as I'd expected, cursing loudly). "I don't know who the fuck these people think they are, but our thrusters are powering up and in about two minutes they're going to be blown to dust," he snarled. "If I could just _see_ them…" He punched a few buttons. "My viewscreen isn't working."

I jumped into the secondary pilot seat and checked the viewscreens. Mine was working, so I reported, "It's a red pod, with a silver asterisk on the side. That mean anything to you?"

Rocket froze in his seat. "Wait, say that again?"

"Red shiny pod. Silver asterisk on the side. Kind of shaped like an egg. There's a little round window in the front, and…hold on…" I zoomed in on the pilot. "And the guy's kind of dressed in this weird red nurse's outfit, with a white jacket over it." I looked over at Rocket, whose face was suddenly slack and his hand was gripping the wheel so tightly I thought he might crush it. "Rocket? You okay? You know these guys?"

Slowly he turned his head towards me. I'd never seen Rocket afraid before; even when we were about to go to what we thought would be our deaths on Xander, he hadn't shown the slightest bit of fear…but now he looked absolutely terrified. "They're here for me."

**Apologies. I'm not the best at writing sexy scenes. And I ended on a cliffhanger again… *hides face in shame* so don't kill me, because the next one is definitely going to take a couple of days to get out.**

**One thing I can promise, though, is that NONE OF THE GUARDIANS WILL DIE IN THIS FIC. I swear, I hate, hate, HATE killing off characters, I can't even do that when I write original fiction (which I should probably get over if I'm ever going to be an actual writer, but meh, details) so I'm certainly not going to do it here. I know that doesn't really make up for leaving with a cliffie AGAIN because I'm clearly the laziest writer ever. But it helps…right? *insert Groot-style puppy eyes here***


	13. Chapter 12

**Here is the beginning of the promised Drax whump. Also, Groot finally gets his hands on the people who tortured Rocket. You're welcome, Groot. ;)**

Drax understood before I did. While I was trying to mentally calculate how many enemies Rocket could possibly have and what species this one might be, he lunged for the pilot's chair and put a protective hand on Rocket's arm. "Are these the doctors who created you?"

Rocket nodded, still gripping the steering wheel. "Yeah. Knew they'd catch up eventually, but—"

I jumped into action. "Then we'd better get our asses in gear, 'cause there is _no fucking way_ they are getting you back. Rocket, find Groot and _get belowdecks_, for God's sake. They can't see you, if they board us we'll deny you're here, but keep a communicator with you because I might need inside info on them if they do manage to get to us. Gamora, take over here, I'll need you on the viewscreens. Call out their patterns. If they prepare to board, I want to in advance so we'll be ready. I'm going to take controls over from Rocket. Drax, go with Rocket belowdecks, get him to show you where he keeps his weapons, grab whatever can do the most damage—I know you can fight with your bare hands but we'll need backup. Then get up here and start patrolling. If our thrusters misfire or if their ship can't be destroyed by the thrusters, they might board us, and I'm going to need you ready to kick their asses."

"I will do more than that—I will reduce their bones to dust," Drax promised, still holding Rocket's arm protectively.

"Rip out their spines, tear out their lungs, turn them into cotton candy—do whatever you want, just _don't let them get to Rocket._" I jumped out of the secondary seat and let Gamora take my place. Rocket still seemed paralyzed, still gripping the steering wheel like his life depended on it. I knelt down so that I was on his level. "We're not going to let them get you," I said gently, "but I need you to get out of here so I can get us away from them. You know where Groot is?"

"Common area. Left him there," Rocket said, so quietly I had to strain to hear him.

"Then let Drax take you to him, okay? Groot won't let anything happen to you, and neither will we. You gotta trust us though, okay?"

Rocket swallowed hard and let go of the wheel. "Okay."

Immediately Drax scooped Rocket out of the chair and set him on the floor. Just before he went away with Rocket, though, he turned and looked directly at me. I couldn't say it in front of the others—not yet, anyway—but I knew exactly what that look meant. It meant, _we still need to talk._ It meant, _we need to finish what we started._

It meant _I love you._ And right now I didn't have time to panic over that.

Our thrusters were still firing up. I took over the piloting, while Gamora kept an eye on the pod, which was reloading for another hit. "They do any serious damage to us yet?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not yet, but they're not going to stop until they get what they want."

"Fantastic. Then we'll have every excuse to blast their little egg-machine there to bits. How long until the cannons are hot?"

"The thrusters won't be at full capacity for another ninety-four seconds."

"Okay, fuck that. I'm gonna give it the gas. Hold on tight." I accelerated to full power. We were now going much faster, but to my immense dismay, so were the Half-World scientists. "Okay, that didn't help much," I admitted. "But they still haven't caught us yet—"

"They will soon, they're preparing to board," Gamora informed me. "They've got out harpoons and jet shoes. I can see two of them standing on the hood."

"Well. That's a mistake we'll just have to let them make." I grabbed the com. "Drax. They're about to board us. You ready to make 'em regret it?"

"I am indeed, Star-Lord." Drax only ever used my outlaw name when we were on missions. I tried not to think, in this context, about how much that turned me on.

"Gamora, can you see where they're aiming?"

"Southwest side."

"Rocket, you get that? They're southwest. Make sure you get as far from that side as possible. Anything you can tell us about these guys to help us take them down easier?"

There was a brief crackle of static, and then Rocket's voice, sounding shaky but determined. "They'll be armed with sedative guns. So if you have to get into hand-to-hand with them, your first priority should be to disarm them and go from there. It's strong stuff, guys. You so much as prick your finger on one of those needles, you're going down. Whatever you do, don't let them hit you with it."

"Got it. Any weak spots?"

"None of the fuckers wear armor, so once you disarm them it should be really easy to knock their shit loose."

There was a heavy thud on the roof. Gamora looked up from her screen. "They have arrived."

"Drax, where are you?"

"They are approaching. Excuse me." I heard him put the communicator down, then a few muffled thumps and groans. There was a brief electric charge, followed by a crunch of metal and a wretched scream. Then he picked up the com again. "There were four of them. Now they are either dead or dying."

"Good. Any more coming, Gamora?"

She looked from the screen to me. I could see desperation in her face. "Another eight. How many do you think are in there?"

"They travel in contingents of about twenty to twenty-five," Rocket told us. "What you just saw was the guard. Those are usually their best fighters. Now we'll deal with the lackeys. The interns and gophers and such."

"All of them appear to be human," Drax casually mentioned over the com.

"It's an expression. You got it covered? Need any backup down there?" No response except some muffled grunts. Drax must be busy. Gamora turned to me, about to speak, but I cut her off. "You take the controls. Let me know if they send more. I'm going to help him. When the thrusters are at full capacity, fire at will. I'll be back."

I ran down the stairs and through the cabin, and I didn't have to go far before I saw that we were indeed boarded by another eight members of the Half World team. And I was surprised to see that they were _good fighters_. I'd been picturing a bunch of science nerds, but they were giving Drax a pretty hard time. I charged up my blaster and shot two of them, and then found myself staring into the barrel of a sedative gun. I could see the glint of the needle and I knew I was in trouble. But then the guy went down. I looked up and saw Drax, already whirling around to face his next opponent. He'd saved me…again.

"Peter! They're sending six more," Gamora reported. "And they appear to be boarding the northeast side."

I swear to God I could _hear_ the color drain from Rocket's face. "They're...near me?" He sounded utterly horrified. My heart ached for him; I could only imagine how afraid he must be.

I shot another guy with the blaster, then knocked out one more with a punch to the face while Drax beat two others into the ground. "Rocket. Come on. You beat these guys once, you can do it again. You got weapons on you?

"Of course I do!" He sounded offended. Good. That was good. Give him something to feel besides fear. "I got the best ones for hand-to-hand situations. The ones that look like tiny little child's toys but can do some serious damage."

"Then brace yourself, 'cause they're coming your way and you'd damn well better give them the hell they deserve."

I heard a crackle of electricity. "Oh, I'm ready." He sounded confident. No, _angry_, as he should be. Now _there_ was the Rocket I knew. "Gonna aim right for the balls."

"Good." Behind me I heard a grunt of pain as Drax fought with the single remaining lackey. "Gamora. Update on the thrusters?"

"Still not ready yet!"

Well, okay then. Apparently when we got out of this I was going to have to talk to Rocket about some upgrades. "Ah, fuck it. Let them come. We got this."

And then I heard a sound I never, ever wanted to hear.

Drax let out a hiss of pain, and automatically I whirled around, just in time to see him rip the needle out of his arm.

_Oh God no._

_Thud_. We'd been boarded again. And my fighting partner was sinking to his knees, the sedative already overwhelming him. As if that wasn't enough, the jackass who'd shot him decided this was a really lovely time to give him a nice, hard kick to the head. Drax fell back against the wall, a low whine of pain slipping from his mouth.

"Eight new players," Gamora reported.

I tried to remember how to breathe. The lackey turned the gun on me, but I was faster: he was crackling with electricity before his finger could go to the trigger. "Fuck you," I growled at his twitching body as I jumped over it on the way to Drax. "Drax. Can you hear me?" I asked, putting one hand on his arm.

He nodded weakly. "This drug is…potent," he choked out.

"So it seems. Gamora, _for the love of God_, are the fucking thrusters at full capacity yet?"

"Thirty seconds," she reported.

Two new goons came at me. I shot them, one after the other. The third was smarter. He went around behind me and tried to get me in a chokehold, while his partner came at me with the sedative gun. I kicked the gun out of his hand, shot him with the blaster, stomped the foot of the guy holding me in the chokehold, turned around and punched him. And that was when I heard an even worse sound than Drax's pained whimper when the needle had pierced him.

Rocket.

_Screaming_.

Rocket did not scream. Ever.

"No. NO. I'm not going with y—_aaaaagh_!"

I practically flew down the hall and into the bunk area. Groot was getting the best of two Science Bastards, but another was forcing Rocket into a straitjacket—and stabbing him with an even longer, deadlier-looking needle than the one Drax had just pulled from his arm. He was just starting to depress the plunger when I nailed him in the face with my blaster.

Rocket dropped to the ground and wriggled free. He staggered to his feet just as Groot cracked the necks of the other Science Bastards. I looked down at the bodies, then back to Rocket, who'd flattened himself against the wall, his eyes wide. Very carefully I knelt down to his level. "It's okay. They're dead," I told him, keeping my voice as low and steady as possible.

With a shaking hand he pointed to the one I'd shot. "That one isn't."

"He will be soon. This thing isn't set to _stun_, you know." I held up my blaster. "And think of it this way. Groot went easy on those two, just snapped their necks…that guy," I pointed to the writhing Science Bastard on the floor, "is going to have a drawn-out painful death. If that doesn't make you feel better, man, I don't know what will."

Rocket didn't exactly smile, but some of the tension drained from his face. "There any more of them around?"

As if to answer his question, an unfamiliar voice came over my com. "Mr. Quill, is it?"

"Star-Lord to you," I growled. "And who the fuck are you, by the way?"

The voice sounded amused. "Star-Lord, then. You may curse all you like but it does not change your current situation. My men are prepared to board—"

I heard a _whoosh_ and then an explosion, which meant that our thrusters had finally kicked in and we'd literally set the assholes chasing us on fire. "You were saying?" I smirked. "Only thing I gotta do now is make sure no one else I didn't invite is on my ship. And if you could just tell me how you managed to hack my com—"

"Oh, there was no hacking involved," the voice assured me coolly. "I suggest you come back out from wherever you're hiding and see what I've done to your companion."

My heart nearly stopped. Rocket and I looked at each other, both of us thinking the same thing. Drax. I'd left him alone, vulnerable, hurt. What was I _thinking_? Without a word I ran down the hall, Groot close behind me. "Go back to Rocket," I hissed. "This could be a diversion. Go. I got this fucker."

I did not have the fucker. Because as soon as I got out to the common area, I saw three Science Bastards. One of them, the white-coated pilot I'd seen, was kneeling behind Drax. Immediately I saw that the pilot had taken my com. Okay, so we hadn't been hacked. I took a closer look at Drax and was mildly relieved to see that his his eyes were open, glazed but still open, and I knew he saw me because a tiny, dopey smile curved at the edge of his lips when I entered the room. That would have been seriously cute…if the pilot hadn't been holding a long, deadly-looking instrument that was too sophisticated to be called a knife against Drax's throat.

The look on my face must have been a mix of blind panic and pure horror, because the pilot smiled grimly. "Ah, so your situation is now clear to you. Good. Now if you'll just give me back my property, we can all go along our merry way."

The two flunky Science Bastards were pointing their guns right at me. I took a deep breath. "Tell your guys to drop their weapons or no deal."

"Oh, Mr. Quill. You are in no position to bargain. Either hand over 89P13, or I will kill this one." He nodded towards Drax. "You see the effects our drugs can have. I will let my men shoot you and take what they want from you."

"There are only three of you, and we have a secret weapon," I warned him. "You want all three of you to come out of this alive, you play by my rules. Drop the guns, or I'll have _my_ men attack. And I gotta warn you, not all of my 'men' are built like him." I nodded towards Drax. "Immune to your poison, some of them. And I sincerely hope you don't think I'm bluffing. Actually no, I take that back. I hope you think I'm bluffing, because then I'll get the satisfaction of seeing the way you react when you find out you're wrong."

The pilot looked impatient. "I see you have no concept of danger. Very well. You have wasted enough of my time. We will kill you and your companion and find 89P13 ourselves." He pressed the knife-like thing against Drax's throat. I saw a thin line of blood appear and—

_No. No, no, no. Don't let him see. You show your hand now, he kills Drax and you. Just. Keep. Playing. Cool._

And that was when I had a brainwave. "You ever thought about trying some of your equipment on a half-breed?" I asked.

That got his attention. "I beg your pardon?" The knife stopped where it was. Drax looked up at me through heavily-lidded eyes. I could see, even through the haze of drugs, how afraid he was. I tried to swallow. This was just like my dream, except he was drugged, not me, and instead of Ronan I was dealing with Science Bastards.

I heard Rocket's low voice on my com. "Keep him talking. Groot and I are coming. Just don't let him suspect anything."

"I'm half-Terran, half-I-don't-know-what." I shrugged. "You wanna find out what the other half is?"

"No—Peter, no," Drax forced out, but his voice was so faint I could barely hear him.

The pilot cocked his head curiously. "Are you offering yourself in place of 89P13?"

"No, I don't give a shit about the raccoon one way or another. You find him, he's all yours. Check the cockpit, that's the last place I saw him." I pointed to the stairs. The pilot gave his two lackeys a nod, and they went up. Good. Let them walk into the lion's den. After all, I figured, Gamora shouldn't be left out of all the fun. She deserved the chance to stretch her legs after sitting in the pilot's chair so long.

"So, you would sell him to me for this one's life?" The pilot looked distastefully down at Drax. "I must say I don't see the appeal."

"Keep him talking," Rocket hissed in my ear.

"Yeah, well, I do. So no, I'm not offering myself in Rocket's place, I'm offering myself in his." I nodded towards Drax. "Give him whatever antidote you have to, unless that shit'll wear off on its own, and let him go, and you can have me."

"No," Drax whispered, looking at me pleadingly. "_No._"

"Shut up," I ordered him. I kept my eyes locked on the pilot. "I mean it. You let him go, and I'll surrender myself willingly." I gave him the side-smile that had worked on countless traders and black-market ops. "C'mon, man. You can't tell me you're not dying to find out what kind of biology it takes to withstand an infinity stone."

A greedy look came over his face. "_You_ can withstand the power of an infinity stone?"

"I can. And I have. Ask Nova Prime if you don't believe me."

The greedy look became a feral grin. "Oh, I think I can work with that. But you see…" He raised the knife-like instrument. "I have no more use for this one. And you can't stop me anyway."

The second the knife-wielding hand was away from Drax's throat, I made my move. _Bam_—right in the arm with a blaster shot.

Except I hadn't counted on his other hand. _That_ knife went straight into Drax's side.

I could see the blood pooling even before I got there. That was when Rocket and Groot burst on the scene, and at the exact same time two bodies came thudding down the stairs, followed by Gamora's footsteps. "Thank you for sending them to me, Peter—" Her pleased expression changed when she saw the pilot Science Bastard writhing on the ground in pain, clutching the hand I'd shot, and Drax lying in a pool of his own blood. "Oh no," she gasped. "What—Peter, what _happened_?"

"Distraction didn't work."

I knelt down next to Drax, who was—by some unbelievable miracle—still conscious. Either Rocket had exaggerated the strength of the medication, or Drax had a hell of a tolerance for it, because he was fighting like hell to stay awake and he was actually succeeding. "Don't—don't touch—" he told me through gritted teeth, face twisted with pain.

"Don't_ move_," I ordered him. "We're gonna take you to Xandar, okay? We're gonna get you taken care of."

He nodded slightly. His breathing was so labored, each breath in and out such a chore, that I worried the knife had punctured a lung. "I'm sorry…I left you to fight alone…"

"Shh. Not your fault. 'Sides, I held my own, didn't I?"

He smiled weakly. "Yes, you did…you fought very well…Star-Lord."

"Hey, now. No using my outlaw name when it's just us. We've been over this, remember?" His eyelids fluttered and I had to work hard to cover up my panic. "Hey. _Hey._ Stay with me, I know you're drugged but you can't go to sleep." I tried to keep my voice light. "Just gotta stay awake a little longer, okay? Gamora's got this thing headed for Xandar. We're gonna get you fixed up, I swear, just…just gotta stay with me a little bit longer."

Drax smiled again but did not open his eyes. "I cannot, Peter…I'm sorry…too tired…"

"No, _no_!" I reached out and cupped my hand around his cheek, ignoring the turn in my stomach as my fingers became slick with his blood. "Eyes here. Drax. Look at me." When his eyelids did, with some obvious effort, raise again, I felt another twist in my stomach. His eyes were so glazed over I doubted he'd recognize me. "I love you. I love you, do you remember me telling you that?" I was desperate. I'd do anything, say anything, to keep him awake. And I was pretty sure that would do it.

It did. He looked a little more alert after I said it, and his voice was stronger when he spoke again. "I remember…I thought you would…deny it now."

"Nope. Never gonna deny it again." I squeezed his hand. "I love you and it'll stay that way. And I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Gamora came back, and I realized that I hadn't even seen her leave. "I paged the Nova Corps, they'll meet us on the landing pad with a medical crew." She knelt on Drax's other side and began to look him over. "Oh, this is bad."

"I can see that." I pulled off my shirt and tried to use it to stem the blood flow. Drax's eyes had closed again. "Hey, big guy. Gotta stay awake," I reminded him.

He let out a low, weak moan. "I can't…"

"Yes you can. Come on Drax. Look at me," I pleaded. "Just look at me, okay? Stay with me. You can't give up, not now—"

"This is _really_ fuckin' bad," Rocket pointed out, and I noticed then that he'd been looking over Drax's multiple injuries. "I mean, we don't get him to a hospital, like, five minutes ago he's gonna bleed out."

"I can't make this thing go any faster," Gamora protested.

"Leave it to me." Rocket left the room, running for the cockpit.

I took Drax's face in my hands and made him look at me. "Look. You're okay. I got you, okay? I'm right here. And I'm _not_ letting you die. Not now, not after I just got you back—"

Gamora perked up. "You two reconciled, I take it?"

Drax and I both ignored her. Our eyes were locked, just the way I liked it. Even exhausted, even glazed-over with drugs and fatigue, his eyes were beautiful. "I meant it, by the way. I'd have given myself up to them. For you. That's how much I love you, so _don't fucking die on me,_ okay? Look at me."

"I see you." He managed a faint smile, and then—my heart almost stopped—his eyelids fluttered again. "I must…rest…I need…to sleep…"

"No. No, Drax, look at me." He didn't move. I knew I couldn't shake him, but I lightly slapped his face, trying to jolt him awake. "Drax. _Drax._ You gotta wake up now, come on man, don't do this to me—Drax? Oh, God—_Drax, wake the fuck up!_"

He still didn't move. But whatever Rocket did in the cockpit had worked, because right at that moment we pulled into Xandar and landed on the roof of a hospital, where the promised medical team awaited us. Two men came in and loaded Drax onto a stretcher, and I'm sure they didn't intend for this to happen, but I followed them. "You should stay back, you'll only be in the way," one of them snapped when I tried to follow them into the elevator that would take us down to the emergency room.

"No. He's _mine_," I growled, too focused on staying with Drax to really care about anything they did to me. "And you can bet your _ass_ I'm going to be _right fucking here_ the whole time, because if you do anything to hurt him any further, I will do to you what I did to him." I pointed back to my ship, certain they had seen the writhing, whimpering mess of a scientist lying on the floor. I only hoped they'd have the sense to take him into custody.

The whole elevator ride down I held onto Drax's hand while the two medics worked on him. I had no idea what they were doing or how they were doing it, or if it was hurting him or not. I do know that he wasn't waking up. I asked if the sedative the invaders had used might've poisoned him. "Depends on how strong it was and what it was made of," was the unhelpful and very unreassuring answer.

When we got to the emergency floor they set off at a run, pulling the stretcher with them, and I chased them down the hall until we got to a set of heavy metal doors with thick glass windows. "Stay back," an orderly barked, grabbing me by the waist so I couldn't get past the sliding doors. I tore myself free, but still didn't make it; the doors slid shut just as I reached them. No, oh God no, this wasn't happening. I was _not_ going to stay out here, helpless and stupid, while he was in there dying. I totally lost it, pounding the doors and screaming his name, demanding that the doors open _right fucking now_ so I could get in there and protect him. Two attendants tried to pull me away, but I shook them off like pests and continued trying to get in, telling them "You don't understand, he needs me, he saved my life, it was my turn, I have to be in there, I have to protect him—please—just let me—"

They still hung onto me. Fine, I could fight them off, I'd done as much in the _Milano_ with more heavily-armed people, hadn't I? But before I could, I heard a new voice coming from down the hall. "Stop! Let him go, NOW!" Gamora. My team had caught up to me. Reluctantly the attendants released me, and I turned to see Gamora flying down the hall, Groot right behind her carrying Rocket, who was clinging to his neck like a scared child. She reached me first, shoving the attendant out of the way and pulling me into a tight embrace. "Are you okay?" she asked in my ear.

I held onto her like a lifeline, like she was the last thing I had left and if I let her go I would die. "They took him, Gamora—they took him away from me, I can't get to him, if he dies—oh my God, if he dies I'll never forgive myself."

"Shh." She tightened her grip on me. "They won't let him die."

"I asked them if the stuff the Half-World idiots gave him was poisonous and they didn't know—they couldn't tell me a thing, I swear, they're useless."

"It's not poison," Rocket spoke up. I looked up at him over Gamora's shoulder. Groot helpfully lowered him down to my level, so he could look me in the eyes. "Trust me, Quill—it's heavy as fuck but it ain't toxic, they used it on me five or six times a day and, maybe you hadn't noticed, I'm like one-twelfth Drax's size and I'm still here. It won't kill him. The blood loss is what'll get him, but the drugs? Not gonna be an issue."

I gently pushed myself out of Gamora's arms when I saw that Rocket was shaking. Right. The whole scary-scientists-coming-after-you thing kind of got blown to the side when it turned out one of us might be, you know, _dying._ "Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded reluctantly, and Groot immediately brought him back in and held him close to the chest. Rocket rested his head against Groot's bark, and I bit back a smile as I watched Groot pet his fur. Okay, yeah, it was awful and sad and I hated Half World for doing this to Rocket, but it was still adorable as all get out, watching a tree cuddle a homicidal raccoon. "I knew they would find me eventually…this ain't over, Quill. They know what our ship looks like now."

"We reduced theirs to ash. It's very unlikely anyone survived. And the one who tried to kill Drax is now in custody of the Nova Corps." Gamora looked sympathetically at Rocket, who still had his face pressed against Groot's chest. "We will protect you, Rocket. We've already done it, haven't we?"

"Yeah, and look at what it cost us." Rocket pulled his face from Groot's chest long enough to shoot us a reproachful look. "Drax might be fucking _dying_—the drugs aren't going to kill him but the stab wound might—and do you see what kind of people they are now?"

"We already knew they were assholes, look what they did to you," I pointed out. "So, they're bastards. That's nothing new. We can fight them off again and again, if we have to—because I'm telling you, right now, the day we let them get their hands on you again is the day Groot goes to work for Thanos."

"I am Groot," Groot agreed, pulling Rocket's head against his chest again.

Rocket pressed himself closer to Groot. I knew, from the way he was acting, how frightened he was—if he was voluntarily reaching out for physical comfort, he had to be way past terrified. It was starting to sink in now, I guess, that he'd come _thisfreakingclose_ to being kidnapped again. Like me, he'd jumped into action when it was needed, but now that the threat had been properly neutralized, the adrenaline was gone and all that was left was the emotional aftermath. Oh, God. That was always the worst.

I edged a little closer to him. "We're not going to let anything happen to you," I promised.

"I am Groot." Groot made Rocket turn his head to look at me.

Rocket sighed. "Groot says he believes you. So I guess I have to." He managed a weak smile. "Hey, Quill?"

"Yeah?"

"You kinda fuckin' saved my life just now."

I realized that he was right. "I guess I did. But—would they have killed you? I don't think it counts otherwise."

"No, they would've made me wish I was dead, though." He shuddered, and Groot reached up and soothingly stroked the fur on the back of his head. I noticed, though, that he stayed far away from the implants on Rocket's back. "Seriously. I can't even be pissed at you anymore."

"Well…thanks, then?"

Rocket shrugged. "I guess you can't really apologize, can you?"

"What, for being an asshole? God, Rocket. I should just start wearing a t-shirt that says _sorry for being a dick_ everywhere I go, that's how often I need to apologize."

He smiled, just a little, before burying his face in Groot's chest again. "God. I keep thinking about it…how fucking close I was to—"

"But you weren't," Gamora reminded him gently. "We kept them from getting you. And I must say, laying hands on the men who harmed you was most satisfying."

Rocket muffled a bitter laugh in Groot's chest bark. "Yeah, it was pretty nice seeing them writhing in pain on the ground…" He looked back up at me. "Thanks for that, Quill."

"You're welcome."

One of the ER doctors chose that moment to pop back out through the heavy-metal doors. "Mr. Quill?"

I whipped around. "How is he?"

The doctor didn't look too happy, which immediately set me on edge. "Well, I have to be honest…it doesn't look very good."

I swallowed hard. "Okay? How bad?" I felt Gamora's hand on my arm, but I shook her off. "How bad is it?" I demanded when the doctor didn't say anything.

He sighed. "Well…he's currently in surgery to repair the damage that the knife wound inflicted on him. He's lucky it didn't puncture a lung, it came very close though. He's lost a good deal of blood and we don't have much of his type on hand, so a transfusion will be a complicated matter. If he makes it through the surgery, he has a chance at recovering…but that's a big if, the way things stand right now."

For a second I couldn't comprehend. No. No, this couldn't be happening. Drax wasn't dying on an operating table, he was standing right behind me, he had to be, if I just turned around he was going to be right there. If I looked at that door long enough he'd walk through it, laughing the way he always did when he'd just made a particularly impressive kill. If I waited long enough he would take my hand in his and remind me of his promise to never leave my side.

"But," I heard myself say, "he _can't_ die. He promised." My voice sounded unfamiliar to my own ears. I couldn't remember making the conscious decision to speak; the words poured out of their own accord. "He promised he'd never leave me. He can't die, he'd break that promise, Drax can't break promises, it hurts him too much, he told me, he—he can't."

I felt Gamora's hand resting lightly against my lower back. "Doctor, you have some of the best medicine and technology in the galaxy in this hospital. Surely there is something you can do."

The doctor shook his head sadly. "Technology can only do so much, ma'am. There's only so much we can do. We're talking about a very deep wound with a very sharp knife, with the added complication of a concussion. If he gets through the surgery we'll have to monitor him for brain damage."

_If_. That word kept poking at me like a sharp fingernail. _If_. We were talking _if_. Not _when_ he woke up. Not _when_ he was safely out of surgery. _If_. "No," I gasped. Suddenly the oxygen was being sucked from my lungs. Black spots danced at my peripheral vision. As cliche as it sounds, the walls of the hospital were closing around me. I couldn't breathe. "No, no, no, he has to wake up, he has to—"

The doctor was saying something else, but I couldn't hear him. I sank down to the floor, curled into a tiny ball, arms wrapped around my knees like I could physically keep myself from coming apart. I became aware that the words _he can't die, he can't die, I'll die if he dies_ were coming from my mouth over and over like a mantra, while Gamora's hand traced circles on my back. She was trying to soothe me and, big shocker, it wasn't working.

_I have to get out of here._

_Every time I'm in a hospital this happens._

_Maybe…_

_Maybe if I leave the hospital he won't die._

I don't remember running out of the room. I don't remember if they chased after me. All I remember is one moment I was trying to stand up, and the next I was out on the pretty front lawn of the hospital. I was surrounded by flowers and carefully-arranged grasses. I was surrounded by artificial pretty things while I disintegrated inside, while my world fell away and I was left with the blind, raw ache of losing someone I knew I couldn't live without. I remembered how much time I'd wasted pushing him away, and the ache intensified. All at once the nausea reached its peak and I violently threw up in the pristine flowerbed.

_You pushed him away. You spent so much time trying to pretend you didn't need him. And now look where you are._

I threw up again. There wasn't anything in my stomach except acid, which burned my throat as it came out. I felt tears streaming involuntarily down my face. I gripped the stone bench I'd slumped over, trying desperately to ground myself, to feel something besides pain, to feel _anything._

_You are losing him. He will never know what he means to you now, because you are losing him and there is nothing you can do about it._

_Oh my God, Peter…_

_What have you done?_

**I know, I know. I'm evil. Cliffhangers again. *hides* Please don't kill me, guys. I already promised I wouldn't let Drax die, remember?**

**Buckets and buckets of thanks to all the reviews, follows, and favorites. You guys make me feel so loved! *hearts***


	14. Chapter 13

**I meant to have this up for you guys yesterday…but a cold got in the way. :( stupid immune system. Anyway. It's here now. And because I knew the Drax-in-the-hospital bits were going to get kind of repetitive (and, okay, boring) I threw in a dream sex scene. You're welcome. ;)**

_There's an arm around my waist. A warm, smooth-skinned arm, holding me close to a toned chest and making me feel safe and happy. Before I'm even fully awake I take a moment to thank whatever gods there be that I'm engaged to a cuddler. I stretch a little and sigh contentedly as my head falls back against that perfect chest, his heart thumping in my ear, reminding me that he is alive and he is _mine_._

_I roll over and am greeted by the gorgeous light-blue eyes that never fail to send pleasant chills down my spine. "Hey there," I say softly, and am rewarded with a light kiss on the lips._

_His hand reaches up and cups my face. "Good morning, Peter." Complete sentences. Yep, that's Drax for you. I wonder how long he's been awake._

"_We have a problem." I snuggle closer to him and tuck my head in the crook of his neck. "The problem is that I don't want to get up, but we probably should."_

_Drax lets out a tiny, almost-inaudible laugh as he reaches up to stroke my hair. "I do not see a problem, as I too am opposed to the idea of getting out of bed."_

"_Hmm. That's good." I let my hands wander over his body—God, I love his body, it's so fucking hot with all those muscles and the ridges from those tattoos and scars and—ugh. I'm getting turned on just touching him. And apparently, the feeling is mutual, because I can definitely feel something poking against my thigh that wasn't there a minute ago. "Drax? You, uh, starting to wake up, there?"_

"_I am already conscious, Peter. However, if you mean to ask if you are arousing me, the answer is yes."_

_I bite back a laugh. He's so blunt and Jesus Christ, it's so fucking cute. I pull back and look at his face. He's looking back at me expectantly, as if to say _so what are you going to do about it?_ I lean in again and press my face against the crook of his neck…but instead of cuddling this time, I bite. Gently, at first, but then harder and harder as he begins to squirm against me. "You like this, I take it?" I tease him, and then give him a hard bite followed by a quick flick of my tongue against the bite mark._

"_I am not a patient man, Peter Quill," he warns me, and then promptly shuts up when I start to palm his hard-on through the thin fabric of his pants. "Oh—please don't stop doing that."_

_How he can use complete sentences when he's this turned on is beyond me; at this point I'd be a whining, stuttering mess. "I have to. Because I have something better in mind." I pull my hand away and he lets out a frustrated groan, but before he can protest any further I've flipped us over so that he's on his back and I'm straddling him. This, although I'd never in a million years admit it, is my favorite position. He looks so hot like this, spread-eagled on the mattress—mine for the taking—looking up at me through pleasure-glazed eyes. Oh, God. I could come in my pants just thinking about him like this; seeing it nearly sends me to nirvana._

_I lean down and run my hands over his chest as I grind against him. His eyes flutter closed, a low moan escaping his lips. "Oh. Yes. This is pleasant," he manages through gritted teeth._

_I just laugh and nip at his neck again. "Gonna fuck you into the mattress," I growl in his ear. "I wanna ride you into next week."_

"_You would lose too much of your stamina if we tried to engage in sexual intercourse for a full week," he points out, and then lets out a gasp of pleasure as I thrust against him again. "And I—I know you are—strong, but—I do not think—_ah!_—that you have the—the physical strength required to—really push me through—the mattress—_uhhh_," his eyes roll back and the words give way to a loud moan as I grind down on him harder and harder. It's clear he's having more difficulty forming words as he gets closer to the edge._

_I'm riding him so hard now that we're rocking the bunk against the wall. Not that he minds; his hands are all over me, running through my hair, feeling my chest and back, grabbing my ass and pressing me harder against him. I stop trying to dirty-talk him and we lose ourselves together, chasing that incredible friction, thrusting against one another until his hands form a death-grip on my waist and he forces himself up against me, letting out a sound that verges on inhuman when he comes. The sight of his flushed face and fluttering eyelids, and the beautiful, absolutely filthy sound of his moans, sends me over the edge and I come too, shaking uncontrollably as I ride out the orgasm, grounded only by the feel of his hands on my waist._

_When it's over I slump down beside him, only too happy to use his shoulder for a pillow. "That was one hell of a way to wake up," I remark sleepily. _

_My fiance cards his fingers through my hair and gently pulls my body so that it's flush against his. "I am inclined to agree. Shall we rest now?"_

"_Why not?" I force my eyes open and look into his again, and feel momentarily overwhelmed by the way he is looking at me. Like I'm the most precious thing in the universe. "Not like we've got anything better to do…hey, have I mentioned recently that I'm in love with you?" I know he knows this, but I hate to let a single day go by without saying it. Maybe I'm trying to make up for all the time I spent denying it. I don't know, all I know is that I have to say it, and I have to say it as often as possible._

_He smiles and wraps both arms protectively around me. "I love you too."_

_I close my eyes again and bask in the afterglow, relaxed and blissed-out, safe in the arms of my fiancé._

I jolted awake like I'd been shocked. Instinctively I reached out to the other side of the bunk and patted the loose sheets. Nothing. No one. I was alone. I curled up on my side, already feeling the agonizing disappointment. Just a dream. It was just a dream. Drax was not in my bunk, cuddling me and letting me screw him senseless. Nope. He was in the hospital, dying. And I was here, in my bunk, hiding like the coward I was.

I went over the finer points of the dream in my head and only one fact stood out to me: we were _engaged._ I hadn't seen a ring, hadn't heard either of us say it, but I'd known, just as surely as I'd known that I loved him, that we were engaged. Committed. About to get married. I should have celebrated that fact. After all, clearly my subconscious was trying to let me know _hey, dumbass, you clearly love him and you clearly want to commit to him, you're over that obstacle, now go tell him how you feel._

And I wanted to. I longed to see him, to touch him, to say _I love you_ and hear him say it back. If he were there with me, at that moment, I would have eloped with him if he'd wanted it. But he wasn't there to ask me for that. He was dying in an operating room and I was here alone, because the others—the non-cowards, the ones who could get past their own selfish fears for the good of someone they loved—were with him, as they should be.

My communicator beeped and I automatically reached over to pick it up. Gamora's voice came through the link, and to my immense relief she wasn't angry. "Peter, he's made it through the surgery. There's hope. He's in a coma now, but there's a good chance he'll wake up. Please, come back and see him."

My heart climbed into my throat. Oh my God, he was out of surgery and he was _alive_. For a second I almost jumped off the bed and screamed with excitement—and then the second part of that sentence registered. "Coma?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes, he's comatose," Gamora repeated patiently. "But, Peter, they say he has a chance. A good chance. Just come back, please. He might wake up if he hears your voice, did you ever think of that?"

I jumped out of bed, one hand already reaching for my jacket. "I'm on my way."

~o~

There were many, many words I could use to describe Drax the Destroyer. Until that moment, when I first walked in and saw him hooked up to about ten thousand bits of medical machinery, _small_ and _fragile_ would not be among them.

But there he was, spread out on a stark white hospital bed, oxygen mask over his face, hooked up to one of those beeping things that kept track of his heartbeat, handfuls of wires and tubes connected to his arms and chest. He was absolutely motionless. I'd never seen Drax so _still_; even in his sleep he often fidgeted. Now he wasn't moving at all. And it scared the living fuck out of me.

It was just me and Gamora in the room with him. "Seeing all the medical equipment triggers panic attacks for Rocket," Gamora explained. "He feels awful about it, though. He wants to be here. It's just…too hard for him. He's sent Groot in here a couple of times."

"How long has he been out of surgery?" I asked, unable to take my eyes off of the slow rise and fall of Drax's chest.

"Only a couple of hours. I kept trying your com, but you didn't answer." Gamora reached out and gently linked our hands. "This wasn't your fault," she said quietly. "You were trying to save Rocket. You did what you had to do and if you hadn't been there, he might have been taken and who knows what would've happened to him?"

"But look at Drax," I whispered, eyes still locked on Drax's motionless body. "_Look_ at him, Gamora. He's—he's _dying_. If I'd just—if I'd been faster, if I'd just left Groot to reassure Rocket and got back to the common room before that bastard got to him—"

"—then he might have ambushed you and killed you both. There was nothing else you could have done, Peter."

Intellectually I knew she was right. But my heart was screaming _you idiot, you let him die_ and I couldn't make the incessant ache go away. This was so eerily like my mother's deathbed that I had to keep reminding myself _you're grown up now, you can do this, you can't just run out of the room like you did then, you're stronger now._ I only hoped I could lie to myself long enough to get through this.

Gamora nudged me a step closer to Drax's bed. "You should touch him," she suggested. "Talk to him. Let him know you're here."

_Touch him._ Could I do that? I edged closer to the bed. Tiny, baby steps. _Okay, Quill, you can do this._ I slowly stretched out a hand, shuffling inch by inch towards the bed. _You can do this, you can do this, don't freak out, you can do this._ I was inches away from taking his hand—

And then my mother's shaking voice was in my ear. _Take my hand, Peter. Take my hand…_

I jerked back like I'd been shocked. Gamora came up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder. "He's going to be all right. It's okay to touch him, Peter. You won't hurt him."

"It's not that, it's…" I couldn't get the words out. "Bad memories."

"Oh." Gamora, thank God, let it go at that. "Can I do anything to help?"

I looked from Drax to her. My throat felt like a sandpaper tunnel. I forced myself to swallow hard. "I think…you might have to make me."

"Oh," she said again, and her hand gently closed around my wrist. "Close your eyes."

I did, and I felt her pulling me towards Drax. I will never be able to express how grateful I was that Gamora, observant as she was, put my hand against his shoulder, not his hand. My eyes flicked open as I touched his cool skin. _Cool. Wrong. This is wrong, he should be hot, he should be as hot as he usually is, why is he cold, is he already dead?_ I struggled briefly, trying to pull away, but Gamora spoke, inches from my ear, in a low, soothing voice. "It's all right. He's alive. I know it's hard, seeing him like this, but I promise you, Peter, he's alive. He's all right. He's going to be _fine_…but he needs you right now. Can you do this? Can you be here for him, Peter?"

I nodded and forced myself to look back down. I let my fingertips brush over his shoulder, down his arm, carefully avoiding the spots where wires were taped or tubes were connected. His skin was softer than I remembered, but the ridges of his tattoos and scars were comfortingly familiar, and touching them made me feel better. Like, okay, everything is fucked-up and _wrong_, but this one thing, this single little insignificant thing, makes it just a tiny bit better.

Knowing Gamora was there helped. Every cell in my body was screaming _run away, get away, get out of here before you kill him_, but I fought the instinct and stayed where I was, caressing Drax's arm with the tips of my fingers—gently, very gently; I wanted him to know I was here but I didn't want to hurt him further. "Talk to him," Gamora urged me quietly. "Let him hear your voice. He might wake up for you—I don't know, it's worth a try."

"Drax…" I sounded hoarse. Scared. I cleared my throat. "Drax," I repeated, my voice a little stronger, "I don't even know if you can hear me, but—but I'm here, okay? You remember how you never left me when I was—when I got shot, remember that, you never left me? I'm not going to leave you again. I—I couldn't—be here—before, because of what I, um, what I told you on the beach that day, you remember? About my mom and how I ended up with the Ravagers? Anyway I—I won't leave you. Not now. Not again. Not _ever_. I'm gonna stay right here, okay? Drax? You okay with that?"

"I'm sure he is." Gamora smiled sadly. "You know, there was a time when I would have given anything to have someone look at me the way you're looking at him."

"Oh?" I turned to face her, intrigued by this admission. "And now…you don't want it anymore?"

"It's complicated." She looked back at Drax. "I learned a long time ago that there are very few people who are not interested in…what did I call it on Knowhere? Oh, yes. _Pelvic sorcery._" She laughed a little. "I'm unsure if Thanos programmed me to be this way or not, but I've never been interested in that sort of thing. Companionship, yes. Romance—well, I've never had time for it, but I'm not opposed to it…but I've never felt compelled to experience intercourse."

Huh. Here was something I'd never considered before. "Wait a sec…you're _ace_?"

She cocked her head at me, confused. "Ace?"

"Y'know—asexual. Not interested in the whole interacting-with-the-dangly-bits thing." She laughed at that. "What?"

"Nothing, just—you almost sounded like your old self there, for a moment," she said a little wistfully. "It was nice."

"I aim to please. Seriously, though. Asexual?"

"I suppose if you wanted to put a label on it, yes."

"But not aromantic?" She raised her eyebrows, the universal expression for _what the hell are you talking about. _I quickly clarified, "Asexual means you don't want sex, aromantic means you don't want any kind of romantic love, sexual or otherwise."

"Oh. That makes sense." She paused, thinking it over. "Like I said, I'm not opposed to the idea of romance, but I've accepted it's not likely to happen. Most beings, as I said, prefer to engage in intercourse."

"Hey, there's a whole galaxy out there," I reminded her. "Never say never. I'm pretty sure you can find somebody else out there somewhere that doesn't like the idea of pelvic sorcery_._"

"Perhaps, someday." She slipped her hand into mine and squeezed gently. "But for now I've got everything I need."

I couldn't help but melt inside when I heard that. She was basically telling me what I'd already known—we were her family—but to hear her say it felt incredible. Gamora likes to play her cards close to her chest, when she can. She'd flat-out told me expressing affection was not her favorite thing to do. But here she was, telling me as bluntly as possible that we were everything she was looking for. We completed her.

_She's got everything she wants with us…I wonder if Drax had everything he wanted too?_

Suddenly I had a brainwave. I let go of Gamora, grabbed a chair, and pulled it over to Drax's bedside so I could lean over, get down on his level and speak as close to his ear as possible. "Hey. Drax. You remember that Terran dessert I made a couple of months ago that you really liked? Those seven-layer cookie bars with the really thick icing on top? Remember those? If you wake up right now I'll go and make you some and you can have the whole pan for yourself. I mean it. The whole pan. I'm not kidding. You just gotta wake up, okay?" I waited. Nothing. Not even a spike in the heart monitor-thingy. Damn.

"You might get an argument from the doctors on that one anyway," Gamora-the-buzzkill pointed out. "I'm certain they won't want the first thing he eats to be an entire pan of cookies."

"Don't listen to her," I told Drax. "They'll let you have whatever you want, you're a hero on this planet, remember? I bet they'll let me give you anything you ask for. _Two_ pans of cookies, even. All you have to do is wake up." No movement. I felt tears blur my eyes. "Can't you hear me at all?" I asked plaintively. As if he might answer.

Gamora sat lightly at the edge of Drax's bed and laced her fingers through his. "When you wake up I'll teach you that takedown maneuver you admired so much—the one I _always_ use to beat you," she offered, and I was pathetically grateful to her for trying my strategy.

"Yes, and—and I'll let you sleep in my bunk with me, whenever you want. You don't even have to ask permission, you can just come in." Drax had often asked if he could stay the night with me, but I'd always refused on the grounds that it was "too intimate." Now I felt sick with the memory of it—all he'd wanted was someone to cuddle with and I'd even denied him that. "And how about this, I'll teach you to fly the _Milano_, you'd like that, wouldn't you? And I'll let you borrow anything you want. Even my walkman. You can listen to it whenever you want."

"You'd better not say that if you don't mean it," Gamora warned me.

"I mean it. I mean every bit of it. In fact, I'll make you your own copies of the mixtapes and edit them so it's just the music, no lyrics. Then you won't have to try and figure out what the words mean. How's that?" I looked down at him. He didn't move. I should have expected that, but I still felt so disappointed.

Gamora sighed again and put her face in her hands. When she looked up again, she gave me another sad smile. "It was a good plan. We tried. And there's still hope, Peter."

That was when Groot popped into the room. "I am Groot." He held up a tablet, which was set in communicator mode. Rocket was on the screen. "I am Groot?"

"Yeah, this is fine, Groot. Thanks." Rocket waved to us from the screen. "I figured this would be easier than trying to be in the room…this way I don't have to be around all that medical crap. How's the man-beast, Gamora?"

"No change. But I swear he's breathing easier now that Peter's here."

"Quill's there?" Groot obligingly turned the tablet to face me, and I self-consciously waved to Rocket. "Well fuck me sideways, thought you'd still be hiding out in your douche cave…did Gamora tell you? The surgery went fine. Textbook-perfect, according to the doctor. If he'd just wake up, he could make a full recovery."

"That's a pretty big if, from what I've seen." I briefly told him what we'd done, bribing him to wake up, and how it obviously hadn't worked.

Rocket thought it over. "Hmm. Quill, you just gave me an idea. That walkman of yours…would you trust me to modify it a tiny bit? Just a _tiny bit_. I won't add weapons, I promise."

I wasn't sure I liked where this was going. "What exactly are you planning to do?"

"I want to add an external speaker, so we can bring it into Drax's room and play it for him. I'd suggest just putting the headphones on him but with all those wires and masks and shit in the way, probably not a good idea. There's been studies and shit about how playing music for coma victims helps 'em get back to the land of the living…want to give it a go?"

"Sure, why not? Can't hurt, right?" I reached down and unhooked the walkman from my belt. "Groot, can you take this to Rocket? I don't want to go anywhere. Just—just in case, you know?"

"You heard the guy, Groot." Rocket looked smug. "God, Quill. I can't believe you're actually gonna let me do this."

"Rocket, if it would make him wake up, hell, I'd let you add a bombing capability to this thing."

"Actually, now that you mention it—"

"Don't even _think_ about it, cowboy."

And we all fell silent at that and looked at Drax, half-expecting him to wake up just so he could hit us with _Rocket is not a cow, Peter, he is a rodent with human capabilities, are you not aware of his species?_ But he just stayed there, silent and motionless, and I felt that creeping discomfort settling over me again. Suddenly I wanted _out_. I pulled the walkman back and hooked it to my belt again. "On second thought, I'll—I'll, um, take this to Rocket, okay, big guy? You stay here with Drax. I bet he'd be happy to see you." I forced a smile.

Gamora put her hand on my arm again. "Peter," she began, but I cut her off.

"I'll come back. I promise." I looked down at Drax one more time. _Hang on. I'm going to save you. I'll fix this, okay? And it'll be just like how it was in my dream—hold on. That dream…_

I realized my teammates were all watching me closely. Okay, I had an audience, but I could work with that. I focused on Drax, ignoring the others, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Hey, one more thing…if you wake up, I'll marry you."

Then I straightened up and faced the others. "Okay. Gotta take this to Rocket. I'll be right back." I ran out of the room without waiting for a reply, and didn't stop until I got back to the _Milano_.

Rocket was waiting at his usual work bench. "Here you go." I pulled the walkman off my belt and slid it across the table. "Careful with that thing. It's ancient."

"You don't say." He picked it up and carefully turned it over, feeling around the controls with his paws. "So…is it any use asking what you said to him? Before you sprinted over here like something was chasing your ass?"

I shook my head. "No. But you'll find out if he wakes up."

Rocket picked up a screwdriver and flashed me his usual manic grin. "_When_ he wakes up," he corrected me.

"Yeah." I watched Rocket open up the side of the walkman and thread a thin, possibly dangerous black wire through an impossibly small hole. He was so sure of himself with machinery…could he be right in feeling so confident that Drax could wake up? I let myself cling to that tiny hope. It was really all I could do at this point. "When," I repeated, hoping I sounded as confident as he did. "Not if. When."

"When," Rocket echoed back to me, and then we both fell silent while he worked on the walkman.

~o~

[Drax]

I couldn't see, or hear, or even really feel much of anything. I felt as though I'd been submerged in a tank of warm water, except that couldn't be true because I could breathe. My body was fully relaxed and if I were in fact in a pool of water (and it certainly felt that way), I was floating. It felt very nice. Comfortable and safe. Somehow I knew that nothing could hurt me here. It felt so good I never wanted to leave. Except…

Except I could hear voices in the distance. They were calling my name, rather urgently. Someone needed my help. I turned my head towards the voices. Every movement was slow and labored, but I found that if I tried, I could propel myself forward. Upward. Swimming. I was swimming. So I _was_ underwater, then. _But then, if I'm underwater, how can I breathe?_

I stopped trying to move. Moving was too difficult. Thinking was too difficult. I wanted to lie here, floating in this perfect, warm water, forever. Never in danger of pain again.

Suddenly I felt a feather-light touch on my arm. I turned to look (very slowly) but no one was there. And then I heard my name again. Wait, what was that? That was Peter's voice. Peter…I needed to see him, for some reason. Talk to him about something. What was it?

_Drax…I don't even know if you can hear me, but—but I'm here, okay? You remember how you never left me when I was—when I got shot, remember that, you never left me? I'm not going to leave you again. I—I couldn't—be here—before, because of what I, um, what I told you on the beach that day, you remember? About my mom and how I ended up with the Ravagers? Anyway I—I won't leave you. Not now. Not again. Not ever. I'm gonna stay right here, okay? Drax? You okay with that?_

Oh! I remembered now…I loved him. And he had finally said he loved me back. That was nice. But wait…why did he sound so sad? That wasn't right. Peter shouldn't be sad. He should be here, in this nice warm water-cocoon, with me. He should be safe. And happy. And with me. It seemed I would have to bring him down here. But how could I get to him?

He spoke again. _Hey. Drax. You remember that Terran dessert I made a couple of months ago that you really liked? Those seven-layer cookie bars with the really thick icing on top? If you wake up right now I'll go and make you some and you can have the whole pan for yourself. I mean it. The whole pan. I'm not kidding. You just gotta wake up, okay?_

Wake up? Oh, now I understood. He wanted me to join him where he was. Outside the warmth, outside the safety…no, I couldn't do that, I wanted him down here with me. Couldn't he come to me? I tried to ask, but all that came out was a bubble. Oh. So I couldn't speak down here. I'd have to find some other way to—

_You might get an argument from the doctors on that one anyway. I'm certain they won't want the first thing he eats to be an entire pan of cookies._ Gamora. What was she doing here?

_Don't listen to her. They'll let you have whatever you want, you're a hero on this planet, remember? I bet they'll let me give you anything you ask for. Two pans of cookies, even. All you have to do is wake up…Can't you hear me at all?_

_Yes! Yes, I hear you_, I wanted to tell him. _Come down here to me, Peter. I'll protect you here, forever. Just come down here with me._

I felt the odd sensation then of a hand curling around mine. Not Peter's. Who was it? Gamora? I could hear her voice again: _When you wake up I'll teach you that takedown maneuver you admired so much—the one I always use to beat you_. Hmm. That _was_ a rather tempting offer…but no, I couldn't take it. I had Peter to think of, after all. This might be the last chance I had to show him that I could keep him safe.

_Yes, and—and I'll let you sleep in my bunk with me, whenever you want. You don't even have to ask permission, you can just come in, _Peter offered eagerly. _And how about this, I'll teach you to fly the Milano, you'd like that, wouldn't you? And I'll let you borrow anything you want. Even my walkman. You can listen to it whenever you want._ _I mean it. I mean every bit of it. In fact, I'll make you your own copies of the mixtapes and edit them so it's just the music, no lyrics. Then you won't have to try and figure out what the words mean. How's that?_

Odd. It seemed they were truly desperate for me to join them, wherever they were. But I felt no compulsion to join them. I wanted Peter here with me, where it was safe. I tried to tell him, again, but once again no sound came from my mouth. This was rather frustrating, now that I thought about it. But how could I communicate to him that instead of begging me to join him up there, he should come to me down here?

There was a blur of voices. I recognized Rocket and Groot, and wondered if they would also attempt to bribe me into leaving my safe space. Instead, I heard Peter's voice again. _Hey, one more thing…if you wake up, I'll marry you._

_What?_ Had I heard that correctly? Did he mean it? Peter Quill, the one who was so afraid to be with me that he fled the room if I touched him, offering to betroth himself to me if I came back to him? No, that couldn't be possible. But he said nothing else, and I couldn't ask him to repeat himself. Oh, this was ridiculous! I looked around. There had to be a way to get a message to him. A letter or a communicator or—

A light?

I looked up. It was like looking at the sky through the lake. Odd, shimmering and difficult to see. But I thought I saw Groot. If I could just get to the surface—maybe—but how?

I tried to propel myself upward again. It was still difficult, still exhausting. I moved perhaps an inch in what felt like hours' worth of treading water. But this time I kept at it. This time I forced myself, inch by agonizing inch, towards the surface.

_I am coming for you, Peter Quill._

**So, fun fact…while scrolling through the GOTG kink meme in a Nyquil-induced haze yesterday I came across a prompt for asexual!Gamora and I swear to God my first thought was "Oh thank God I'm not the only one who has that headcanon!" **

…**ANYWAY. So. Peter's starting to grow up a bit (finally) and Drax is trying his damndest to get out of that coma. I should probably add here that I have 1) never been in a coma and 2) never met anyone who's actually been in a coma and 3) not done any research for this chapter at all, so my description of being comatose probably is not in any way medically accurate. Fair warning. :P**

**Major-super-epic thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. I really needed the encouragement the last couple of days (being sick SUCKS) and every time I got an alert I was like "yay!" So thank you for all the lovely comments and all the support. I just hope you like what's coming next (semi-spoiler alert: cuddles. Cuddles are what's coming next). ;)**


	15. Chapter 14

**I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN FIVE DAYS I SUCK PLEASE DON'T HATE ME.**

**I hate when people offer like five thousand excuses for not updating BUT: I got sick (like, really REALLY sick) and then had to write a paper. And that's why this chapter 1) took so long and 2) is really not that exciting and 3) has a total shark-jump at the end. (I wasn't planning on making that happen. Seriously. But he made me do it. You'll see what I mean.)**

[Rocket]

I learned over the course of the next four days that Peter Quill reacted only marginally better to hospitals than I did. And naturally, that intrigued the fuck out of me because as far as I knew, the Ravagers were not exactly into the whole regular-checkups thing. Their idea of treating a wound was "rub some dirt on it, walk it off, and if it's bad enough do a few shots of something nice and strong until you can't feel it hurt anymore." Quill, by his own admission, could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen the inside of a medical facility after he left earth. So unless something really bad had happened to him as a kid—and I wasn't going to dismiss that as a possibility, but it was a long shot; he was only seven years old when he was taken—he had an irrational hospital phobia. Which, not to put too fine a point on it, made me curious as hell.

He could visit, he didn't seem too phased by the machines. But leave him there for too long and he'd get antsy and flee the premises. (I'll say this for him, he lasted longer than I would.) When I asked why, he cryptically replied, "Bad memories," and left it at that.

The sixth time I got that answer I got frustrated. "Come on, your memories can't be that bad. What'd they do to you on Terra, huh?"

He sighed and looked off into the distance. "They didn't do anything to me. The problem is what I couldn't do." And he refused to say another word.

Well, whatever. I had my own stuff to worry about. Like, for instance, Groot.

Oh, God.

_Groot._

I swear, the biggest mistake I ever made was admitting that, yeah, I definitely had non-platonic feelings for him. On the other hand, the best decision I ever made was…well…admitting I had non-platonic feelings for him.

I mean, it's not like a whole lot of stuff changed. We already slept in the same room. I already slept on his chest every night. It was pretty much the only way I could sleep; I hadn't gotten much sleep when he was re-growing because I was so used to curling up in his lap. So that didn't change. And we'd already spent just about every waking moment together. That didn't change either. And I was still powerless to resist when he gave me the patented Groot Puppy Eyes and asked for a cuddle. If anyone else in the galaxy asked me for a cuddle, they would get a nice bite on a typically-private body part. Not Groot. Whether we were "dating" (and I still had no idea if that was, in fact, what we were doing) or not, he knew damn well that he only had to ask and I would willingly allow him to hold me, pet me, or snuggle me like a stuffed animal. And he knew that he was the only one who was allowed to do it, too. So that didn't change.

And he didn't change, either. Still looked at me like I'd created the universe just for him. He'd always looked at me like that. Even when we'd first met, even when I was this half-feral, terrified _thing_ that had no idea how to function with people who weren't holding scalpels, he'd looked at me like I was a miracle from the heavens. And he still did. He still loved having me on his shoulder. He still sat and watched me methodically take apart and thoroughly clean the guns. He still waited patiently for me to finish organizing, or taking inventory of, our ammunition stock. And when the Half World scientists invaded, he made it clear that he'd still have my back in a fight, no matter what.

And when it came down to it, that's really what it was. I was willing to give anything up for him. I would die for him, and I knew that he would do the same for me. That hadn't changed, and it never would.

What had changed was that now we were calling it something. Now we had a word for all the things we felt towards each other. Really when it came down to it there was nothing different, but now there was a label. And it was that label, if you asked me, that made things really freakin' weird between us. Suddenly I couldn't just sit in his lap in front of the others, because it was okay when we were friends, but now that we were together it was PDA. And if I slept in his arms it wasn't just to keep the nightmares away; if we came out of our bunk together it would look like we'd…okay, no, couldn't think about that, not yet. I wasn't kidding when I told Quill I'd slept with weirder beings than Groot (when you're literally _the only one of your species_, you tend to have pretty lax restrictions on who and what you're willing to hook up with), but I also wasn't kidding when I said that the idea of getting busy with him quite frankly scared the hell out of me.

But we hadn't told any of the others yet. It just wasn't the right time, what with the whole Drax-almost-died-and-Peter's-kind-of-shitting-himself thing going on. So they didn't know it was officially PDA when I sat on Groot's lap while I cleaned the weapons (I wasn't sure we'd need weapons again anytime soon—I hoped we wouldn't, actually—but it never hurt to be prepared), and they didn't know that when we slept in the same bunk there weren't a thousand protective layers of blankets and jumpsuits between us. They didn't know, but somehow it still mattered, because _I_ knew, and _he_ knew, and we were…we were _together_, and that was all there was to it.

He was the one to carry me out when I freaked out in Drax's hospital room. The machinery reminded me too much of the machines _they_ used on me. And Groot understood before Gamora did that the reason I'd gone unusually silent wasn't because I was afraid for my teammate (I mean, not like I wasn't concerned for Drax or anything, but it wasn't the main reason I was freaking out) but because I was remembering how it felt when _I_ was the one on the other end of all those wires—except they weren't there for my benefit. He noticed my shivering, my twitching, the fact that I suddenly couldn't put together a sentence. And he scooped me up and carted me out of the room before I could even ask him to take me away.

But later that week, when the nightmares came, he made one of those cocoons I used to love so much, one of those little cocoons made out of his vines and branches with those little light spores. And for a few seconds I was okay, and I started to calm down, because it felt so nice in there, all safe and warm with those pretty lights and Groot's face right there next to mine and a few loose vines smoothing back my fur and brushing the tears from my eyes.

And then I remembered what happened last time I was in a cocoon like this.

"_No, Groot…you'll die!"_

"We._ Are. Groot."_

_Crashing—splintering—an agonizing groan, followed by deafening silence—smoke clearing to show the charred, twisted scraps of wood that used to be his body—_

I pushed frantically at the walls of the cocoon. "No, no, you'll die, you'll die, you can't, you'll die—" I don't know if I actually forgot we weren't on the _Dark Aster_ or if it was just a strong, bad memory. All I knew was that I had to get out. It was completely irrational—it was the crash that had killed Groot, not the fact that I was inside his cocoon—but it didn't matter; in my fucked-up brain the logic told me that since last time he'd grown a vine-cocoon he'd died, the same thing would happen this time.

Groot, amazingly enough, understood and he immediately retracted the vines and branches until I could see that we were safe in our bunk on the _Milano_. He gently stroked my back and released another handful of light spores, so I could see, with perfect clarity, that he was right there and he was alive. _I won't die_, he promised. _Not again. Who would protect you if I did?_

"I don't know," I whispered, tears leaking out and soaking into the fur around my eyes. "You can't ever do that to me again. I don't know if I could, you know—make it—without you."

He wrapped both arms around me and held me close against his chest. The light spores had floated towards the ceiling, filling the room with a nice, soft glow that perfectly illuminated his face. I could see those dark, warm eyes searching my face, and see his thin bark lips form that gentle smile that I loved so much. _I will always be here,_ he promised, and pressed my head down so that it rested in the crook of his neck. I didn't think I was going to sleep again, but then he scratched the back of my neck, not too hard but not light enough to tickle, _just right_, and he hummed—I think he hummed one of Quill's songs, but I don't know, it doesn't really matter—and I couldn't really help but relax.

Groot knew how to comfort me. I'd always known that. But it struck me for the first time that he was totally and completely unphased by anything I threw at him. Something that had always comforted me before—the spore-filled cocoon—was unusable now, but he hadn't panicked, hadn't done what I would've done, which was stand there and cry out _what do you want, tell me what you want!_ No, he hadn't done that. He'd adjusted, and quickly, and comforted me so thoroughly that not only did I go back to sleep fairly easily, but I also had a good dream to replace the bad one. I won't spill the details. Just suffice it to say that Groot would've approved.

When I woke up the next morning we got the call that Drax had come out of the coma. My first reaction was one of excitement—great, he was awake and alive, we could easily deal with whatever came next. Not that I'd ever thought he was in danger anyway; Drax was too tough to die. If he could survive Ronan, I figured he could survive a little stick in the side. But then I remembered that Groot and I weren't the only (or, scary thought as this was, the most) dysfunctional couple on the _Milano_. And then all I could think was _Please, any deity that might exist…if you do exist…please don't let this be a clusterfuck._

~o~

[Peter]

Gamora was as sympathetic as it was possible to be, but I'm sure my endless coming-and-going shenanigans were annoying the hell out of her. I couldn't stay in that room for more than an hour before I started to feel claustrophobic. At the same time, though, I wanted to be close to Drax as much as possible, so I'd stay there until I couldn't take it any longer, leave for a ten-minute break, come back, stay until I was really on the verge of breaking down, and then leave for the rest of the day.

The fourth day of what we now called "Hospital Watch," Gamora called me out on my frequent leaving. "You don't have to tell me, but I would really like to know why it is you can only be in this room for so long."

I could have said something like _I just can't stand to see Drax like this,_ but Gamora could always tell when I was lying. And I mean, that was part of it—I did hate to see Drax so vulnerable—but it was more than that. It was the steady beeping of the heart monitor, the unnatural cleanliness of the place, the strong scent of disinfectant, the air of perpetual tragedy. There was no way to feel happy in a hospital room. And there was no guarantee that this hospital vigil wasn't going to end exactly like the last one.

It was stupid, and I knew it was stupid, but I couldn't shake the feeling that my mother had died because I was in the room and that the same thing would happen to Drax if I stayed too long. I knew how stupid it sounded, so I couldn't tell Gamora. She would rightfully laugh in my face if I did. So I just said, "Like I said earlier…bad memories."

"Of what?" she asked gently.

I took a deep breath. I could just tell her part of it…couldn't I? She could know the basic reason, I didn't have to tell her that it was my fault. "My mom died. When I was a kid. The night that I—left—she died from this disease we have on Terra. It's called cancer and it basically rips you apart from the inside. It's—God, it's fucking _awful_. And—she died of that. In a room that looked, well, a lot like this." I gestured around at the unnaturally white walls. "So. You know. I don't like to remember that night."

Gamora's eyes went wide. "Oh—Peter—I'm so sorry, I didn't—" She blushed, and I knew she was thinking of the same thing I was: the things she'd said about my mother when I'd yelled at Drax. "I didn't know," she finished awkwardly.

"It's okay. How could you know? I didn't tell you."

She reached over and took my hand. She was sitting on one side of Drax's bed, and I was on the other, and up to then we'd been talking to him, trying to coax him into waking up. I didn't think he could hear us. She believed he could. Now she said softly, "I'm sure she was a fine woman. I didn't mean the things I said that night, I was angry."

"Join the club." I looked sadly at Drax's eerily still face. He looked better than he had a few days ago. There were fewer wires and tubes stuck to him, and the mask had been replaced by a thin oxygen tube. But he was still motionless, still gave no indication he even knew that Gamora and I were there, and I longed to see him move, hear his voice—any indication at all that he was still alive, that he was still _Drax_. Now more than ever, I hated myself for pushing him away as long as I had. "I wish I could take it all back. If I'd known it would end like this…"

"It is _not_ ending like this," she said firmly. "This is not the end, Peter. He _will_ wake up. He will wake up and he will remember how much he loves you, and you will tell him you love him and it'll make him so happy…and then you'll have to make good on that promise to marry him."

I looked up at her. "What? How'd you know—"

"Cybernetic modifications," she reminded me with a little smirk. "I can hear a pencil drop three rooms away, did you really think I couldn't hear you whisper two feet away from me?"

"Jesus. You think Rocket heard?"

"Does it matter? Would you rescind the offer because we heard you make it?"

I shook my head. "No. If he wakes up I'll give him anything he wants. It's just…I would've liked that to just be our thing for a while. I wanted it to be special. Secret. Now everyone's going to know."

Gamora nodded thoughtfully. "Tell you what, when he's recovered I'll distract the others, and you two can run off and have a secret ceremony. I'll cover for you."

"Thanks." I squeezed her hand. "If you do that I'll totally pay you back by finding the cutest member of the cuddliest species out there, and setting you up with them."

She laughed and squeezed back. "I accept your offer. That being said I am not in favor of kidnapping as part of a romantic endeavor…though I do find it acceptable as a military tactic."

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. "The conversations we have," I muttered. I looked back down to Drax. "You hear that, big guy? Gamora's love life depends on you waking up." I paused. "That's a joke. Just in case you didn't understand. But, um. The, uh, the eloping thing? That's _so_ not a joke. At all. I mean if you wake up…I swear, we can do it as soon as they discharge you from the hospital. I don't care. Whatever you want. Whenever you want. I'm yours. Just say the word."

The heart monitor changed. The beeps were…not frantic, exactly, but the pace had picked up. I jumped to my feet. "Oh my God, oh my God, he's dying," were the first jumbled words out of my idiot mouth.

Gamora, however, understood what was really happening. "Keep talking to him," she ordered in the low, calm voice she used to relay tactical information when we were on a mission.

I reached down and gripped his hand. "Drax—oh my God, Drax, if you can hear me—move or something. Grunt. Make a noise. Call me an idiot, I don't care, but say something."

There was a long silence, broken only by the beeping of the heart monitor. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what I was waiting for—anything could've happened and I would have treated it like the single most important event in the universe. That was how tense I felt. If he moved—if he just _blinked_—if he breathed—if he talked—oh, please, Drax, talk—if he showed any sign of life my heart would explode.

_Please…if there's any higher power out there, any at all…let him wake up. I swear, I will never mistreat him again, I will never leave him, I will be everything he could ever need if he would just. Wake. Up._

"Drax," I whispered, my hand tightening desperately around his. "Drax, it's just us, okay? Just us and Gamora. Gamora's here, she's rooting for you. And—and Rocket's modified the walkman, we've been playing it for you, could you hear it?" As I said it Gamora reached over and flipped on the walkman, which we'd been playing intermittently since Rocket had added an external speaker. As the sound of "O-o-h Child" filled the room, I continued talking to Drax in a low voice, rhythmically stroking the back of his hand with my thumb. "Just open your eyes for me, okay? Just let me know you're here. I just wanna see that you're okay, can you do that? Can you wake up for me?"

Nothing. Agonizing, silent _nothing_.

And then—

And then there was a God, there had to be a God, because…

_Because Drax's eyes fluttered open._

I heard a sharp breath from Gamora, but she didn't say anything. I couldn't tear my eyes off him. For the first time in days I could see those beautiful blue eyes. He was _alive_. "Drax," I breathed. "Oh, God—Drax—look at me—" I couldn't say his name enough, couldn't look at him enough. The things I'd hated about the hospital, the antiseptic scent and the eerie white walls and the noise of the machines, all of it went away. All of it faded out until there was nothing in the world but me and him, and his hand entangled with mine, and our eyes locked on each other's.

He didn't say anything, but the tip of his tongue slowly poked out and traced his dry lips. Oh, no. I remembered how thirsty I'd been when I'd woken up after getting shot. "Gamora?" I wished it were possible to whisper and scream at the same time. "Gamora, I need the pitcher." My free hand stretched vaguely towards her as I reached blindly for the water jug we'd kept in the room for this exact purpose.

Gamora pressed a full cup into my hand, and I slipped the straw into Drax's mouth. "There," I murmured as he drank eagerly. "There…that's better, isn't it?" I heard Gamora move and thought she must be going for the call button. Oh, no—not yet—I didn't want the doctors, I just wanted to be with him. I wanted him to know that I was there, that I was not leaving, that I'd never leave him again.

His hand slowly curled around mine in a weak attempt to reciprocate my fervent hand-squeezing. His eyelids fluttered, but he was still looking at me. When I took the straw out of his mouth he finally attempted to speak, but he could only get out one word. "_Mine_," was what he said.

"All yours," I promised. I hadn't realized until that moment that tears were streaming down my face. I also realized then that I didn't care. Let him see me cry. Let Gamora see me cry. Let the whole damn galaxy see me cry, who cared? I had Drax back. I had him back and that was all that mattered. "I'm all yours, Drax. All yours. I'm not going anywhere. Not without you, anyway."

Two doctors burst into the room then, and immediately started fussing over him. One of them attempted to usher me away, but Drax let out a tiny whimper and weakly strained towards me, and the doctors quieted while I took his hand again. "I gotta go," I told him. "Just gotta move out of the way so they can check you."

The impatient doctors shoved me aside and start doing medical things, Gamora brushed her hand over my shoulder. "I'm going to go call Rocket and Groot and tell them that Drax is awake. You stay here."

"Okay," I choked out.

The doctors informed me that he was in "almost perfect" condition and would be ready to go home by the end of the week_. Home_. He could come home with me. By the end of the week. That is, if he wanted to. I thanked them, dazed, and collapsed into the chair next to his bed while he looked at me through sleepy eyes.

"Are you tired?" I asked him, tentatively reaching out to rest my hand over his. "I mean…we need to talk, obviously, but you probably need, like, a shit-ton of rest first."

He smiled a little. "Talk to me," he whispered. His voice was low, raspy, weak…but it was _his voice._ He was talking. He was here, he was real, he was _mine._

"Okay," I said softly. "Okay, whatever you want. I meant everything I said when you were out. I really meant it. If you want me, I'm all yours. If you want me to go, I'll go."

"No," he rasped, eyes widening a little in alarm. "I never…want you…to go."

I squeezed his hand gently. "Okay, then. Shh, don't freak out or anything. I'll stay right here. I'm here for as long as you want me. I won't go anywhere."

"Forever?" His eyes sought mine, pleading, almost demanding. It was a question, but it was also a command.

"Forever it is," I promised, and my heart soared at the look of contentment on his face when I said it. I still couldn't believe that even after everything, he still loved me. He wanted me to stay.

I know the others came back eventually. But I don't remember how, or when. All I remember is looking at him, drinking in the sight of him like I hadn't seen him in weeks, and the way he tried to hold my hand, and the look in his eyes when I promised to stay with him forever. I remember feeling like the only thing I would ever want to do again was hold his hand and talk to him until he dropped off to sleep.

I don't even know what I talked to him about. I think I just told him, maybe fifty thousand times, how thankful I was that he was alive and how much I'd missed hearing his voice and _dear God Drax if you ever scare me like that again there will be serious consequences don't put me through that again dammit._ I think at some point I promised him, again, that I would stay there as long as he wanted me to. He smiled a lot, but didn't really try to talk again until the end, when it was clear he was too tired to stay awake any longer and I gently suggested that, hey, maybe it would be a good idea to sleep.

"Don't…go." He tried to cling to my hand but his physical strength hadn't really come back yet (that would take a while, according to the doctors), and if I'd wanted to pull away I could have, but I didn't.

"Shh, no, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you while you sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up." I squeezed his hand comfortingly. "Not going anywhere. I promise."

"You said…when I woke up…we could…" He was struggling to get the words out, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. But I understood what he was saying _perfectly._

"You could _hear_ that?" I gasped.

"I heard…you…wanted to…marry me." His eyes fluttered again. "I want to…"

"Okay, okay," I cut him off. "Okay. We'll do that. You sleep now though, okay? We'll talk about this when you're, like, really awake. And not tired. Okay?"

"Don't leave…"

"I won't. I'm not leaving. Just sleep now, okay? I'll be here the whole time. I'll be right here." I tried to keep my voice even, but my heart was pounding. If he weren't on painkillers and in desperate need of sleep, I'm sure he would've seen through me in a second. I was sure that as soon as he'd recovered enough to have a real conversation, he was going to be all over me. I could just hear him now, scolding me about using marriage as a bargaining chip and asking me about twenty times if I really meant it. I could imagine Gamora siding with him ("you know, Peter, you do use a lot of metaphors, I can't blame him for thinking you meant something else, he's just making sure, you really should go easy on him"), and I could imagine Rocket laughing himself stupid. I knew they'd all look at me like I was crazy. (Not like it would be the first time.) And they'd be right. I mean, bribing a coma victim with a marriage proposal? Sounds kind of like…

Well, like the kind of thing someone who used disco moves to distract an evil supervillain would do.

It sank in then, as Drax slowly drifted off to sleep and his weak grip on my hand slackened entirely. I didn't move. I stayed there, watching him, my heart beating so fast I was thankful it was him and not me who was hooked up to an EKG machine. I didn't have any desire to run away, not from him, but oh my God, what had I _done_? We didn't have a relationship. We weren't really together. I mean, yeah, we'd been on the verge of it, but what had really happened between us? A kiss on the beach, a few moments of high-stakes emotional tension (holy shit, I knew I couldn't handle much more of that), some really intense fights, and a make-out session so hot I'm about 99.999999% sure that if Half World hadn't invaded when they did, we'd have jumped straight into a 24-hour sex marathon. Okay, the last part had been nice—_really_ nice, actually, I was looking forward to more of that—but it still didn't make a relationship, as any of the one-night stands from my past could have easily proved.

But I hadn't thought about any of that before making him every promise in the world if he'd just _survive_. If only he would wake up, I'd thought, everything would be okay. So I'd gone ahead and promised something I shouldn't have, and now he was awake and I had to deliver, ready or not. And okay, much as I loved the idea of keeping him around forever (and, it seemed, that feeling was totally mutual), I knew we weren't ready. We were so not ready it wasn't even funny, because come the fuck on, we weren't even dating—or courting, whatever the hell he wanted to call it—but now here we were. I'd said if he lived I'd do whatever he wanted. Well, here it was. He was awake. He was really awake, and he was really alive, and he was really mine.

And we were really engaged.

And all I could think was, _Oh my God, I promised to elope with him. We technically weren't even together yet when he got hit, what is _wrong_ with me?_

And as soon as he was alert and fully conscious and ready to talk for real? _I was going to be so screwed._

~o~

[Yondu]

"Hey, Captain? I think you should see this."

Kraglin had tuned in to some idiotic Xandarian news channel. I rolled my eyes when I saw the headline was something about the Guardians of the Galaxy. "Do I really need to see a bunch of pasty dumbasses gushing over the stupid Terran? We got bigger problems." I turned back to the blueprint of the building we were currently preparing to rob, but Kraglin's insistent tugging on my coat sleeve made me turn around again. "Stop that! What, are you two years old?"

He didn't answer, just pointed to the screen. The badly-dressed, pink-faced newscaster was saying something about more Half-World fleets being spotted in the area and that anyone with pets should take special precautions. "Fascinating," I said dryly. "I'll be sure to keep you in the cargo hold if we see any red pods nearby."

Kraglin shook his head. "Wait for it."

The pink newscaster droned on for a few more seconds about Half-World invasions and then she turned it over to her associate, who was standing in front of a familiar-looking hospital. "Hey, ain't that the place we robbed for medical supplies once?" I asked, mentally resolving to kick the crap out of my first mate if he was seriously pushing me this hard to watch this damn broadcast because of the stinking hospital.

"Shh. Yes, it is, but _watch_."

"…and I'm standing here with one of the victims of the attack, Xandar's own hero Peter Quill." The news lady turned and the camera panned to reveal my boy, who…well, who looked like death warmed over, to be honest. He clearly hadn't slept in days and probably hadn't eaten in as long, there was a dark, ominous bruise on his throat and there were bloodstains on his clothes. But the news lady didn't seem phased by any of that, she just calmly asked him, "So, Peter, how are you doing since the attack?"

_How stupid are you?_ I wanted to ask her. _He looks like someone just fucked him up, how do you think he's doing?_

"Not great," Quill admitted. "I mean, Drax is conscious again, and Rocket's…well, he's shaken, obviously, but they didn't get him, so that's something. But they really messed us up. Broke a bunch of stuff on the ship when they boarded us and, well…" He pointed to the mark on his throat. "They tried to choke me. And I mean, you think I look bad, you should see Drax the Destroyer…they stabbed him so hard he was in a coma for half a week. I think Gamora's the only one who didn't get injured."

The interview went on, but I stopped listening at _they tried to choke me_, staring at the huge dark bruise on Quill's neck.

I mean, sure, the kid was a pain in the ass and sure he'd betrayed us and sure he was about as useful as a fart but he was _my_ useless fart. I'd raised him, hadn't I? I'd spent half my life making sure none of my men messed him up too bad. And now look at him. He gets hurt and goes on TV to show it off? Was he crazy? He might as well put a sign around his neck saying _hey, villains, look at me, I can't defend myself, please come and get me._

Clearly, Quill needed my help.

"Kraglin, turn this thing around. The job can wait. We're going to Xandar and I'm having a word with that idiot," I snapped, gathering up the plans and blueprints. We could rob that building anytime. I had some serious parenting to do.

**Again I reiterate: I wasn't planning on bringing Yondu in. Not at this point anyway. But here he is :P So. Y'know. That's gonna be a thing that Peter has to deal with (because I can't give Peter a fucking break, it's against the rules lol)**

**Thank you for your patience, I know I let this go way too long without an update. And thanks again for the reviews, follows and favorites. You guys make my life. *hugs***


	16. Chapter 15

**Here we go! This chapter is pretty much entirely comprised of Drax and Peter FINALLY having a clear-the-air talk (about time, am I right?) and may or may not include as much cuteness as I could possibly stuff into a serious conversation. Plus, kisses. (I wanted to include cuddles. But hospital beds and hospital machines are not really conducive to cuddles. So that'll have to come later. Sad face.) If you've been waiting for them to finally get their shit together (I know I have, I've been wanting to write this chapter the entire damn story, lol) this is for you. :)**

The first day after he came out of the coma Drax spent most of his time resting, either sleeping or just lying there and letting me comfort him. I didn't mind; hell, if I'd just had a near-death experience, I'd probably want rest too. (I ignored the little voice in the back of my mind that reminded me of the several times I'd had near-death experiences, and how after all of them I'd insisted on jumping right back into action until someone forced me to rest.) The only time I left his side was to eat (at Gamora's insistence) or to use the bathroom, and then when the Xandar news team wanted to interview me about the Half-World attack. I didn't tell Rocket that the reason they wanted me to do said interview was because Half-World pods had been spotted in various locations around Xandar. If he knew that he'd have flipped for sure. So I just told Groot to keep an extra-close eye on him, and did the Xandar news interview in the hopes that it would get the entire planet on the lookout.

But the second day, he was fully alert and awake and ready to talk. Gamora saw to it that Rocket was kept busy repairing the bits of the _Milano_ that the Half-World attackers had damaged, and of course Groot would stick close to Rocket, so I had Drax all to myself. I knew that talking to him was going to be awkward, to say the least. I could only hope I hadn't thoroughly scared him off by essentially proposing before we'd even had a proper date.

To my surprise, he didn't seem to remember any of the promises Gamora and I had made to him while he was unconscious. He did, however, remember that when he'd first woken up, he'd told me he wanted to get married. "So wait, you remember that, but you don't remember me and Gamora talking to you?" I asked him.

"No. I only recall offering to become your husband. And I must admit, I'm surprised to see you here."

He'd only been totally awake for about a half-hour. As soon as the doctors were finished giving him a thorough checkup, I'd been left alone with him. Now I pulled my chair a little closer to his bed. "Yeah? Why?"

"I had thought that if I spoke of marriage, it might shock you into running away again," he said bluntly, and I felt my face heating up. "After all, merely attempting to give you an audio tape made you so angry you told me you didn't love me. I had thought an offer of marriage would cause a more violent reaction."

I shook my head. "No. Trust me, I'm just relieved you're alive, okay? The last thing I'm going to do right now is run out on you."

"You have run from me in the past. Why are things different now?"

"Because I—fuck, Drax, I almost fucking _lost_ you, okay? I was so afraid, I thought—I thought that kiss when we were in my room was the last memory I was going to have of you. Ask Gamora, when they first brought you in here, I could barely stand to be in the room…seeing you like that, being in a hospital again, it brought back some really bad memories. I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about."

He nodded slowly. "The possibility that I might die reminded you of your mother, and how she died of illness," he said, and then his eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh. I think I understand now…"

"What?"

"It was your mother who gave you the musical device and the audio tapes, was it not? Giving you another audio tape must have brought back those memories as well. I apologize, I should have thought of that."

I couldn't think straight for a second, because _fuck_, he was _right_. I couldn't have put it into words until that moment, but as soon as he said it, I knew. "Yeah. I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. You couldn't have known how I'd react. I just thought…okay, this sounds really stupid, but I thought, well, since she gave me the tape and she died, that you would—" I broke off. I couldn't even say it out loud. "Well, anyway. I still reacted in, like, the worst way possible. And I'm sorry. I never should've said any of that to you. All I can do now is say I'm sorry and hope that you believe me when I say I didn't mean a word of it."

He reached for my hand, and I met him halfway. His touch was firm and gentle at the same time, and I felt my heart skip a beat. "I accept your apology. And how could I not believe you now? The way you behaved when you woke from your nightmare demonstrated how you truly feel about me."

Oh, God. I blushed again. "Jesus. Yeah, I guess that'd about do it."

"You were very—_fervent_—in your affections. I trust that was intentional?"

I shook my head. "I was so out of it. I'd just had a dream you died, remember? I just wanted to know you were real…but that doesn't mean I didn't mean every bit of it. I—" I had to stop and take a deep breath to steady myself. I wanted to say it, _needed_ to say it, needed him to hear it, but in the light of day, with him alive and awake in front of me, doubts were starting to creep back in. I'd hurt him so badly already, could he really trust me? And could I trust him, when he'd almost left me once? I knew it wasn't his fault—he wasn't trying to die, after all—but it was so scary and so real and I didn't think I could deal with someone else dying on me. But still…

_I honestly don't think I can live without you._ I'd said it, and I meant it. And it was time to own up to it.

"I love you," I said carefully, and found that I liked the way the words sounded coming out of my mouth. "I love you, and I don't—I don't want you to ever think it's your fault if I freak out on you. Because it's _never_ your fault, okay? It's always me. I'm always gonna be the idiot—"

"You are not an idiot," he interrupted. "You have been hurt. You do not trust easily. It is understandable."

"Right, except not. Gamora's been hurt worse than I have and she trusts me just fine."

"Gamora does not have romantic feelings for you."

"So what? It's just as hard to trust someone as a friend as it is to trust them as a lover. Believe me, Drax. There's a fucking reason I've never had a crew before now, okay? I prefer working alone. I don't trust too many people. Yondu saw to that." _Oh, fuck._

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, did he?"

"Look, forget I said that."

"I will not. I want to know how he harmed you, and I want to know now. You have evaded this question too many times, Peter. You _will_ tell me now."

When Drax sets his mind to something it's impossible to sway him. Besides, he'd just woken up from a coma. Now was the time to ask for pretty much anything he wanted. And he wanted to know my dynamic with Yondu. Crap.

I sighed and settled back in the chair. "Okay. Well, first of all, I'm not stupid. I know you and Gamora have this mental image of him beating the crap out of me and chaining me up in a closet and forcing me to live on bread, water, and the bitterness of my own failure, but…well, that's not how it happened. He picked me up, never told me why—apparently he was supposed to deliver me to someone, but the deal fell through—and he taught me the ropes as soon as I was old enough to start working for him. I was pretty young, not quite eleven years old, the first time I stole for him. So, y'know. He started me off pretty early. But I mean…yeah, it was kind of hard, but you know what? He didn't let me feel sorry for myself. He didn't let me sit around crying over my mom. He gave me stuff to do. I was so naive when he first picked me up, I probably would've got killed if I'd tried to make it out in the galaxy on my own. But he taught me how to be self-sufficient and, you know, until you guys came along I was actually doing pretty well for myself."

Drax didn't seem convinced. "If he was so good to you, then why did you leave him?"

Oh, here we go. "Abandonment issues?" I shrugged, smiling as if the whole thing were a joke. "I don't know. Maybe because being, y'know, almost thirty-five and all that, I felt like it was time to go out on my own?"

"Or perhaps it was because you felt that you were unable to thrive in that environment and you finally had the means to get to a safe place?" he suggested quietly, and I felt my stomach clench because, okay, that was a little too close to the mark for my liking.

I quickly recovered. Time to redirect the conversation. "Can you please tell me where you got this idea that he hurt me? Please? Because, look, the way you talk about him, saying stuff like 'get to a safe place,' it sounds like you think he, I don't know, abused me or something. I mean, you accused him of raping me, for God's sake."

Drax looked straight into my eyes, and I knew that whatever was coming, I was not going to be able to just brush it off. "Peter. May I tell you something about my home planet?" I nodded. If he wanted to tell me, he was going to tell me whether it was relevant or not. "I do not know if it is like this on the entire planet, but in my village we had a special team of law enforcers whose sole purpose was to inspect the homes of parents who were suspected of abusing their children. Most of the time, if a parent was found guilty, it was because they were using physical punishment in an extreme manner. These parents faced severe consequences, and rightly so. But there was a second type of parent that was much harder to catch, because they did not leave visible marks on their children. Instead, their method of punishment was to employ verbal tactics in order to break their children's spirits. They rarely were proven guilty, but everyone knew what they were doing. You could see the evidence in the way their children behaved." He paused, and then added, "And that is what I believe Yondu did to you."

Long-winded-Drax-to-short-easy-English translation: he thought Yondu emotionally abused me. Oh my God, would he ever quit? "Okay," I sighed. "Okay, look. I don't know what you want me to say here, man. It's like a broken record. I can tell you over and over that he never hurt me, but will you ever believe me?"

"I believe he neglected you."

"He made me a stronger man," I snapped. "He didn't cuddle me like a child. He let me work out my own problems—"

"He _gave_ you problems, I think."

"He made me live by my own means. He made me independent, Drax. He never let me cry when it was obvious there was a better solution. He never defended me when the other Ravagers would beat on me, I had to learn to fight my way out. He never let me mope around if I failed, he would tell me exactly what I did wrong so I'd know not to do it next time. He'd—"

"Wait." Drax held up a hand to stop me. "Did you just say that he stood idly by while his crew assaulted you, and you believe he did this as a favor to you?"

"He did," I insisted. "Don't you see? He forced me to learn to defend myself and I did. And I'm pretty damn good at it now. And if I remember correctly, you didn't have a problem with that when we were surrounded by Kree soldiers and it was just you and me and Groot against a shit-ton of people and I could take on four or five at once—"

"Peter, _stop_," Drax cut me off again, "You must see how awfully he treated you. He was never a parent to you, he neglected you and somehow instilled in you the idea that allowing yourself to express emotion was a sign of weakness."

Oh, so _that_ was where he was going with this. "Oh, no. Don't you dare blame the way our relationship has gone on him. It's not his fault my mom died, okay?"

"No, but he is certainly to blame for implanting in your mind the idea that to mourn for her was a selfish act." His hand covered mine again. "I would speak with him, but I am already aware that you will not permit this."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, good call. Let me guess, you're going to 'fix' me instead?"

He shook his head. "No. You are not broken; what would I fix? I only intend to love you, that's all."

And, okay, that was sweet. And it totally caught me off-guard. "So just to recap," I said, my voice shaking a little (and I hated myself for that), "you think that because Yondu was so tough on me, I'm some kind of—I don't know—emotionally-stunted idiot who's just afraid of love, and you think the solution to that is to—what—love all up on me until I cave in and let you sweep me off my feet?"

Drax smiled a little. "I will ignore your use of colloquialisms in order to focus on the general message. Yes, that is essentially what I plan to do."

And all right, maybe that made me melt, just a little, because that really was the sweetest thing _ever_. But it was so unnecessary. And it was really tempting to let Drax just do whatever the hell he wanted, but I had to set the record straight. This was too important to just let it slide. Somehow I'd gone from wanting to avoid talking about Yondu at all costs, to really needing Drax to know how our relationship had worked. Maybe I just didn't want someone so important to me thinking that someone else who was equally important to me had caused irreparable damage to me. Maybe—and this was a long shot—maybe I was thinking if they ever met I didn't want it to end in a fight to the death. Or maybe I was just hoping that if Yondu ever found out about me and Drax, he'd go easy on the shovel talks.

I turned my hand up underneath his, so I could lace our fingers together. "Okay. You want the truth? I'll give you the truth…yeah, Yondu was pretty hard on me. But, for real, I don't have any resentment towards him for that. If you asked him—well, actually, he wouldn't admit it in a million years, but he was hard on me because he cared about me. He really wanted me to be able to take care of myself, and I can now because of what he did for me. But, yeah, he _was_ hard on me, and yeah, it _did_ hurt sometimes because I really wanted to just ignore the world and cry it out sometimes, and he wouldn't let me. And, okay, if you want to blame him for me, like, not wanting to be open with you…I mean, he does like to play his cards kind of close to his chest. So maybe I picked that up from him. But you know what? Like I said, he really cared about me, and—and if you ever tell anyone I said this, I'll…well, I won't kill you, because I'd miss you too freakin' much, but I'll be really upset, so don't tell anyone I said it—I care about him too. He's the closest thing I ever had to a real dad, you know?" 

"What does this have to do with us, Peter?"

"I'm saying, you don't have to try and fix whatever damage you think he caused, because the real reason I ran away isn't because I wanted to get away from him." I didn't want to say what I had to say next, but I knew it was better to tell him the truth than to let him think Yondu had truly hurt me. "I ran away because—I guess I just wanted to leave him before he had the chance to leave me." I laughed a little bitterly. "I wasn't kidding about the abandonment issues thing."

Drax stroked the underside of my wrist with his thumb. For a second my eyes fluttered closed and I just sat there and enjoyed it, because damn that felt really good. Then he asked me, very quietly, "Is that why you spoke so cruelly to me when I gave you that audio tape? You believed yourself in danger of falling in love with me, thus opening yourself up to be hurt if I left you, and thought that if you caused me pain first it would make you immune to any hurt I might cause you?"

I opened my eyes and forced myself to look at him. "Yeah. That's pretty much it, right there. I told you I was messed up, didn't I?"

He shook his head. "No. You are not 'messed up.' You have been hurt. I understand it. I just want to know why you still believe I will deliberately abandon you when I have told you, so many times that I have lost count, that I have no intention to do so." When I stared down at his blanket instead of answering, he asked, "Do I need to remind you that I have lost people I love as well? It would be easy for me to ignore my feelings for you in the hopes that I would feel less pain if were to lose you, as I nearly did when you were shot. But I do not even try to do that, because I know that ignoring the love I feel for you will only cause both of us pain in the end. Please believe me when I say that I will not rescind my promise to always stay by your side, no matter what the consequences may be."

I looked back up at him. I wanted to hate myself for hurting him. Instead, for the first time, I selfishly allowed myself to feel comforted by the fact that, for whatever reason, he actually still wanted me. "I've hurt you already," I reminded him. "And you know I'm likely to do it again. Because I'm an asshole like that."

"Perhaps that is true, but you are not—what was it you said to the corpsman? You are not 'one hundred percent a phallus?'"

The situation was tense, but I still had to laugh. God, I loved him. "Yeah, close enough."

"Well, I believe that." He squeezed my hand. "I believe that your intentions are good. I am not afraid to love you, Peter Quill. As I said—no matter what the consequences may be, I will stay with you until my heart ceases its beating." His voice dipped low, taking on an intimate tone that I just knew he wouldn't use with anyone else. "I will be honest with you, as you have been with me. I did not expect to fall in love again, after my wife's death. But I was wrong. I love you, and I will say it as many times as it takes for you to understand that I mean it."

"I've hurt you," I said again, because he needed to remember that before he jumped into promising himself to me. Not that, at this point, it would stop him.

"And I have already forgiven you for it." He took my face in his hands and made me look into his eyes. "Peter, I will say this as many times as I must until you believe me: I love you, and I trust you, and I will do whatever it takes to make you love and trust me too."

I took a deep breath and reached up, putting my hand over his. "I love you," I said, and relished the way his eyes lit up when he heard me say it.

As we stayed like that, staring into each other's eyes, I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I wasn't sad. I felt like my heart was overflowing, but in a good way. I did love him. And it was scary as hell, and I knew it would continue to be scary as hell. But I'd always been a risk-taker. The way I should have looked at this whole falling-in-love thing was that it wasn't any different from stealing a valuable object from a heavily-guarded place, or facing down a supervillain armed with nothing but sweet dance moves. In the Book of Dangerous Shit that Peter Quill Has done, falling for Drax was definitely a lot further down on the list from "face Ronan the Accuser and challenge him to a dance-off."

I was brave, I reminded myself. Yondu had seen to that. It was time I started acting like it.

"I love you," I repeated, and felt a little thrill run through my body at the look on his face when I said it. "And I'm sorry that I ever told you I didn't."

"I love you too. And I always will."

I smiled. "Hey, Drax?"

"Yes, Peter?"

I stood up and leaned over his bed. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"

He looked up into my eyes, and I damn near melted at the way he looked at me. "I would like that very much."

It was the first time I'd kissed him with a clear head, without the fog of nightmares clouding my judgment, the first time I'd kissed him intentionally, deliberately, not out of a raw need to prove to myself that he was there, but simply because I wanted to. Every other time we'd kissed, I'd felt like I was losing control, like I'd pushed a boulder down a hill just to see if it would roll and now I had to somehow get it back up the hill before it crushed everything in its path. I'd started to think that every time I let Drax get close to me it would be like that. Like I had no agency. Like I was some kind of slave to him, or to my feelings for him, and I had no way to change that.

But _this_ kiss? This kiss was _different_. This was _intentional_. This was both of us consenting and both of us knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that the other wanted it. I wasn't crying out for him and forcing him against me and _demanding_ that he touch me so I could prove to myself that he wasn't dead. He wasn't overpowering me, waiting until I was too emotionally vulnerable to refuse him. We weren't jumping in blind. He knew I was likely to lose my shit on him at some point in the future. And I knew that even if I did, he'd still be there when I calmed down.

We didn't know how to fix that every time. Maybe we never would know. It was okay. We could work it out.

And oh, God, his lips were so soft and I loved the way his hand drifted up and cupped my cheek and I loved that he pulled me in closer, hospital equipment be damned. I loved that my hand was on his chest just over his heart and I could feel it beating in rhythm with mine. His skin was warm again, not frighteningly cold as it had been that first day in the hospital. Warm, vital, _alive_. he was alive, and he was mine, and I had no problem admitting that I was his.

It was the first time that kissing him hadn't made me confused or afraid or desperate. Instead, I was _happy_. I wanted to stay like this. I wanted to do this forever. I didn't want to run away now. I wanted to be close to him forever. I never wanted to let him out of my sight again.

_I never want this moment to end, ever._

We pulled away at the same time, just enough to look at each other, but we didn't really let go. I knew then that he didn't want to either. He wanted me to stay, and that made me want to be even closer to him. "Are you all right?" he asked, and the _are you going to run away?_ went unsaid.

I could've said a lot of things then, to keep from saying what I actually said. I could've said _yeah,_ or _I'm fine_, or _I'm okay, you?_ or _sure_, or _it's all good, man_ or a hundred other useless, empty junk phrases that were intentionally bland, deliberately used to avoid revealing how I really felt in that moment.

Instead I said, truthfully, "I've never been happier in my life," and was rewarded by the sight of those beautiful eyes lighting up and the feeling of his hand on the back of my neck as he pulled me in for another kiss.

**ABOUT TIME RIGHT? :P There IS more angst on the way (Yondu's coming, don't forget), but I thought it was about time to let these two have some fluff. ;)**

**Massive piles of thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited. You're all so sweet and make me so happy. Hugs to everyone! *snugglehugs* :)**


	17. Chapter 16

**WARNING: there is sexytime in this chapter. Not too explicit (I'm weirdly shy about writing smut, idk why) but definite sexytime nonetheless. And lots and lots of fluff. So if sexytime (or, heaven forbid, **_**fluff**_**) makes you uncomfortable, might want to give this one a miss. Also, fair warning, Yondu returns in this one…and he's not happy when the Guardians try to keep him from Peter.**

When they finally let Drax out of the hospital, I was given strict instructions to make him rest and keep him from doing any strenuous physical activity until he'd made a full recovery. When I pressed for details, the doctors in question admitted that it would be hard to tell. They said at least two full weeks of rest was the minimum requirement. And we could only start working again when he could perform basic muscle exercises without pain. Bottom line, Drax might be out of the hospital, but we couldn't start doing missions again for a couple more weeks at least.

I got him settled into his room on the _Milano_, told him to stay there while I figured out where we were going to go next, and went to find Gamora. "Okay, I know it's pretty early on, but I think I'm going to take him and go," I told her.

She nodded slowly. "I think you should. Do you know where you're going to go?"

"I was thinking about taking him back to Candyfornia. He seemed to really like it there. It's so peaceful…and it's a tourist town, so, y'know. There's the whole elopement-friendly factor." I tried not to blush. It should surprise literally no one that I failed.

I expected teasing, but she just raised her eyebrows at me. "Does he know?"

"Not yet. But I made a promise and I just…I don't know. I feel like I should keep it."

She reached out and took my hand. "You're an honorable man, Star-Lord." She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze. "If you like we can all land there, give you some backup in case there's trouble."

I shook my head. "No, I—I know it's really awful, and it's selfish, but I just—I really want to be alone with him."

"That's not selfish, it's perfectly normal. Are you going to take the _Milano_? I'm sure there's plenty of places to stay around here."

"Actually I was thinking of taking one of the backup pods. That way you guys can go wherever you want."

"Sounds like a decent plan. And Peter?"

I'd started to go, but now I turned back. "Yeah?"

"Hurt him again and I hurt you."

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

"I'm sure. I just hope you don't have to."

~o~

I'll never forget the look on Drax's face when he saw that we'd landed on Candyfornia. "Well, what do you think?" I asked, laughing at his childlike excitement. "You brought me here when I needed a break. I figured I should return the favor."

He turned to me, eyes glowing with anticipation. "And how long will we stay here?"

"As long as you want. Well. Not more than a couple of weeks, because the others are going to need us back eventually. But, like, way more than a few days. Unless you're tired of it, then we can go somewhere else…" I realized I was rambling and promptly shut up. "Sorry."

He reached over the console and took my hand. "I will never tire of being alone with you, no matter where we choose to stay."

And of course I had no idea what to say to that. I'd pretty much accepted at this point that there was no "going slow" with Drax. And even if there had been, I'd pretty much blown that out of the water by, well, offering to marry the guy while he was still comatose. True, he didn't remember that, but I was sure if I told him about it, he would. As it was, I figured the poor guy had to be pretty confused, remembering that the first thing he said to me when he woke up had been some variant of "hell yeah, let's get hitched."

But even with all of that taken into consideration I was still fucking _nervous_. I mean yeah, Drax was about as sweet as it was possible to be—which was weird, considering he was legit bathed in the blood of his enemies, but whatever—but that didn't change the fact that I'd fucked this up multiple times before and, knowing me and my big mouth, I was likely to keep fucking up until he either snapped and killed me or snapped and left me.

To cover up the fact that I'd suddenly and inexplicably forgotten how to use my words I made a vague "let's go" gesture and got out of the pod. Drax followed me and, as soon as we were within arm's length of each other, took my hand again. I let him, because it seemed easier than pulling away and saying something stupid like "not now, people could see us." I led him up the hill (the _cotton candy hill_, did I mention I freaking loved this place?) and to our rental house. This one was nothing like the big family house Gamora had got us for our first trip to the candy planet. It was a little one, a "honeymoon suite" just for the two of us. And as I'd expected, Drax loved it. Especially since it was literally three steps away from the beach.

As soon as we were unpacked he all but demanded we go and explore the shoreline. He took my hand again as we walked down the short little boardwalk to the beach. I should have pulled away, insisted that he be a little more discreet in public. I didn't. I just let him hold on. The way I saw it, I owed him that. Every time I looked at him all I could think was _you almost lost him. You could still lose him. Don't you dare push him away again._

We got down to the edge of the water and stood there, letting the waves wash over our feet, while we stood still and looked out at the horizon. It was so pretty to look out at the sky that it took me a good minute or so to figure out that I was watching the horizon, but he was watching me. "What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You are pleasing to look at," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. Thanks, I guess." I tried to keep my eyes on the sky, but I couldn't help it, I _had_ to look over at him. _Don't hold back. Make yourself say it, go on._ "I like to look at you too," I managed to get out, and then internally kicked himself. _You've seduced how many innocents into your bed and the best you can do is, "I like to look at you too?" Pathetic._

He dropped my hand, only to reach up and slip his arm around my shoulders. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked, flat-out.

"Because I wanted to do for you what you did for me. I got hurt. You made sure I had the chance to get better."

He turned to face me and made me look at him. "Peter. You and I both know that is not why we are here."

I could feel my face heating up. Damn, damn, damn. I'd forgotten that Drax could smell a lie, or even a half-truth, a mile away. "Well, it's true. I mean, yes, there's another reason, but—but I really did want to give you a break, I guess. You're always the one looking after me. I thought it'd be nice for it to be the other way around, for once."

"And the other reason?" he pressed.

"I wanted to be alone with you," I admitted, and I was surprised at how easily the words came. "I wanted to have some time, just the two of us, to—you know—work things out."

He nodded slowly. "I could have guessed that. But I wanted to hear it from you."

"Well, now you've heard it. It's true. I want you all to myself."

He smiled and reached up to touch my flaming-hot cheek. "I want you to myself, too."

I thought he was going to kiss me then, the way he was looking at me. Instead he hooked both arms around my waist and tugged me closer, and I knew there was no option except to put my arms around him too, and put my head on his shoulder. I don't know how long we stayed like that, standing in the shallow water, eyes closed, ignoring the world, just holding each other. I don't know how long I kept my head in the crook of his neck and let the soft rhythm of his pulse drown out every other noise, or how long his hands gently explored my back as though he were trying to commit it to memory. What I do know is that I never wanted that moment to end.

_If this is what it feels like, being in love…God, I don't know how I lived so long without it. _

~o~

The last time we'd been on Candyfornia I'd had a marshmallow bed. This time was no different except for one little factor: I was going to be sharing it with someone.

I knew it was a bold idea, getting a one-bedroom place for us to stay. It was the kind of move that even someone like Drax couldn't misinterpret. It said, _I do not want to be apart from you, not even for a few hours._ It said, _I'm hoping that if we sleep in the same bed, something more will happen._ For all intents and purposes, it basically said _you're mine._

When he saw the lone bedroom he raised his eyebrows at me. I blushed and said something stupid about it being cheaper if we rented a smaller place. I knew he didn't buy it, but he didn't say anything, just tugged me close and kissed the side of my face. I took that to mean _I'm okay with this._ Besides, it was Drax—if he didn't like something he made no bones about telling everyone within earshot just how much he didn't like it. If he wasn't okay with being in the same bed, he'd tell me.

Sure enough, as soon as we got in and were settling down to go to sleep, he casually hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me in close so that my back was against his chest. I laughed a little, because of freaking course Drax would be the big spoon. "So this is how it's going to be?" I asked, already relaxing against him. "I'm your new cuddle toy?"

"You are not an inanimate object, therefore it is not possible for you to be a plaything," he replied. "But yes, I would prefer to hold you every night, if that is what you are trying to say."

"Just checking." I nestled against him, using his arm as a pillow. "You sure I'm not, like, crushing your arm or anything?"

"No." He sounded amused. "How could you crush me when I am so much bigger than you?"

I rolled my eyes, thankful he couldn't see me. Really, did he have to remind me? I wasn't _that_ much smaller. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You're the big tough guy and I'm the marshmallow. Can we move on?"

"You are not made of candy, Peter."

"Oh forget it," I laughed. "Just go to sleep, would you?"

"Of course. Good night." He pulled me in close, cradling me in his arms like a teddy bear, and I found that I had no problem falling asleep like that. Drax's arm made a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

It was weird the next morning, because I'd never woken up next to someone I hadn't fucked the previous night. And that in itself was rare enough, because most of the girls I'd chosen weren't exactly the type to hang around for the awkward morning-after. But when I woke up I found that I'd turned around in my sleep and was clinging to him, with my arms locked around his neck in a position somewhat reminiscent of a baby koala. Great, I was a fuzzy animal now. I dragged my eyes open and saw his face inches from mine. "Hi," I said shyly. It kind of hit me now that I'd really slept in his arms. All night. Not, like, a nap. And not after uncontrollably sobbing myself to sleep. Not unintentional, and certainly not out of necessity. We'd really done it—we'd slept in the same bed because we wanted to.

"Good morning." He reached up and gently unlinked my hands, so that I had to let go of his neck. "You seem to have become very possessive in your sleep."

"I kind of do that sometimes." I shifted so that I was on my back and was not surprised when his hand lightly came to rest on my stomach. He was possessive, but not harsh, and I realized that I actually kind of liked that. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes, I did. And you?"

"No nightmares, for a start." I stretched a little. Sleeping with someone else was lovely, but sleeping in one position for too long? Not so easy on the muscles. "Mm. Usually I wake up in the middle of the night. Can't remember the last time I slept a full night."

He looked at me, concerned. "You typically are so plagued by nightmares that you cannot stay asleep the whole night?"

"No, it's just—I wake up out of habit, I guess. Even if I don't have a bad dream, I'll wake up for some other reason." He looked so unhappy that I quickly added, "But it's no big deal, really. I usually just go right back to sleep." It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

"Promise me that if you wake in the middle of the night you will wake me too," he ordered, and I felt a little thrill go down my spine because, oh God, the way he was looking at me. Like there was nothing in the world more important than staying up with me if I couldn't sleep. I don't know why that was so hot, but it was. His hand came up and gently cupped around my face, thumb stroking my cheek. Even now it surprised me that he was so careful with me. From watching him fight I always expected to get manhandled, but every time he touched me, it was so tender and so light. "I will not allow you to stay awake and suffer on your own. Promise me you'll wake me so that I can comfort you, should you have another nightmare."

I let out a nervous little laugh. "Well. If you recall, the last time I had a nightmare…I didn't really have to wake you."

He smiled at the memory. "I must confess I am a little more interested in what happened after you woke up." He drew me in close again, our bodies flush against each other and, hello, what was that pressing into my thigh…was that what I thought it was?

I expected him to take what he wanted, to dominate me the way he had when we'd made out after my nightmare. Instead he kissed me—didn't roll us over or pin me under him, just stayed side-by-side and kissed me, just like that—and reached up to support the back of my head with his hand, fingers tangling in my hair. We broke apart just long enough for him to whisper against my lips, "If you wish for me to stop, please tell me."

"No," I whispered back. "No. I—I don't know if we should—you know—do _everything_ right now—you're still recovering and all that—but no, please—please don't stop."

"Then I will continue," he replied, and then pulled me in for a longer, deeper kiss that made me feel hot and light-headed.

We kissed for a long time—deep, slow, languid kisses, with our hands running over each other's bodies, exploring and touching and seeking out new ways to make each other moan. In contrast to the frenzied passion of last time, we had the mutual understanding that there was no hurry. We had all day. We had all week. We had two weeks, if we wanted. We had as much time as we needed to discover everything about each other.

It felt like hours before his hands started to snake underneath my clothes, before he lifted my t-shirt over my head and untied the drawstring of my pajama pants. I waited for him to pull off those pants, but he paused, rested his forehead against mine, and asked, "May I have your permission to finish undressing you?"

It shouldn't have surprised me that he asked—if nothing else, Drax had proven that he was a stickler for consent—but the fact that he continued asking even after things got going, that he didn't just assume that a kiss was a free pass to take off my pants, blew my mind. "Only if you get naked too," I said, because I honestly thought I might die if I didn't get to feel his skin against mine.

He smiled and gave me a quick kiss before removing both my pants and his. "There. Is this satisfactory?" he asked, pulling me in close again. He was rock-hard, but that was perfectly fine with me, because so was I, and at the first touch of our now-naked bodies I let out a moan that made him laugh. "I suppose that is your answer to my question."

"Are you kidding, this is perfect." I pressed myself as close to him as possible. "Can I touch you? Please?" If he was going to ask every step of the way, then so was I.

"I would like that." He moved away slightly and laid back, giving me full access to his body. Oh, _yes_. This was what I'd been waiting for.

Even with all the over-the-clothes groping and full-on, tongue-in-the-mouth making out we'd been doing all morning, I still felt the tiniest bit shy when I first touched him. His skin was so warm that if he'd been human I'd have been worried he had a fever, but I knew that he naturally ran a high body temperature, so I wasn't too concerned. Slowly I ran my hands over his chest, down his arms (jeez, he had so much muscle—was everyone on his planet that ripped or was he the end result of a shit-ton of steroids and an even bigger shit-ton of weightlifting?), down his sides, across the his stomach. I stayed carefully away from the below-the-belt area. That, I mentally promised myself, I would do later. If he wanted me to, of course.

He closed his eyes and melted under my touch. "I have waited too long for this," he murmured.

"You and me both." It was true. The further we went into this, the more I kicked myself for holding back for so long.

Suddenly he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in for a kiss. We kissed and kissed and kissed while I ran my hands all over him, hungrily exploring him now that I knew I was allowed, and when we finally came up wasted no time in lowering my head to bite and lick at his neck. His breathing quickened, and I took that as my cue to start feeling around him with my hands again. "Hey," I whispered in his ear. "I want to make you come. Can I?"

"Please," he said through gritted teeth.

Permission granted. Time to engage. I slid my hand down slowly, deliberately teasing him, still kissing and biting his neck. When I reached the intended destination I found it surprisingly easy and not awkward at all. In fact, as I held him in my hand and started to move up and down I felt a rush of excitement. The sounds he was making were the hottest thing _ever_, and when I snuck a peek at his face it only turned me on more; he was flushed and sweating and he looked like he'd just come in from an intense workout, except he'd never had those pleasure-glazed eyes when he finished a workout but he did _now_, because _I_ was making him feel like that. _I_ was doing this to him. And my only regret was that I hadn't done it sooner.

I'd thought that if we ever did anything sexual it would be awkward at first and would slowly get easier over time. But honestly there was nothing awkward about this. It was _hot_. Because he was thrusting into my hand like he'd been waiting to do it his entire life, and he was letting out these little moans and every few seconds he'd shiver, just a little, and every time I changed pace (I was speeding up and slowing down, just to draw it out, just to make it more intense when I finally got him off) he'd either say _yes, like that_ or _faster, please_ and the way he'd moan out the words was so incredibly sexy it made me hard just hearing it—

Suddenly he let out a drawn-out cry that nearly made me stop—I was afraid I'd hurt him—and then he was desperately clutching at me and his entire lower body jerked and he was coming _hard_. I'd forgotten how incredibly sexy it was, watching someone else orgasm and knowing I was responsible for their pleasure. Now I remembered. God, he was beautiful when he came. All fluttering eyelids and panting breaths and trembling limbs, hands shaking as he gripped me like a lifeline. I loved it, I loved every second of it.

It took him awhile to come down from the high. I locked both arms around him (bit difficult, that, but I managed it) and whispered _I've got you, just relax_ until his breathing finally evened out. He looked at me through stunned, wide eyes. "That was…intensely satisfying," he told me, and that coming from Drax basically translated to _that was super hot, man._ "Thank you."

"Anytime." I leaned in for a kiss. Mistake. I'd got so absorbed in watching him that I'd forgotten that I was still hard (okay, can you blame me, he was gorgeous, _seriously_) and when I leaned in to kiss him, I sort of poked him in the hip. "Sorry," I mouthed, blushing furiously. "I, uh, kind of…I loved watching you. Seriously. Seeing you come was, like, the hottest fucking thing _ever_."

In one swift motion he'd reversed our positions so that I was flat on my back and he was holding me against his chest. "You gave me incredible pleasure. I would like to do the same for you, if you are willing." As he said it, his hand was already edging up the inside of my leg. Immediately a surge of arousal roared through my body, deciding for me. Yes, I was totally up for this.

"Please," I choked out, and then let out an involuntary moan when his hand wrapped around me. "Oh. _Oh my God_. Yes. That. That right there. So good…_unh_…so…fucking…good…don't stop, please, don't fucking stop—"

"I do not intend to cease my actions in the near future." He continued to methodically, almost mechanically stroke me, at an almost agonizingly slow pace. "And is it necessary to use so much profanity?"

"Really?" I let out an inelegant snort of laughter—and then moaned loudly as he squeezed _just right._ "You've killed—_oh_—how many people—_fuck yes right there_—and you're seriously going to—_ah_!—complain about my language—_oh my God yes that don't stop_—oh. Yeah. _Yeah_, right—just like that—" My eyes rolled back in my head as he started to speed up—and then, just as I'd done to him, he slowed his pace again. "You're killing me here," I groaned.

"Oh?" He sounded concerned but, thank God, he didn't stop. "You will suffer death if I do not allow you to climax?" A playful tone crept into his voice, and I knew then that he was teasing me. "Well, then. I suppose I had better hurry this along." He sped to a nearly frantic pace, and suddenly I was coming so hard I actually stopped breathing for a second. For a few wonderful moments I knew nothing but pleasure, and then my vision started to work again, and I could breathe properly, and all I could really see or think about or care about was the stunning man holding me in his arms.

"Holy fuck," I panted. "Holy _fuck_, that was amazing."

"Are you implying that my performance in bed is on the same level as a religious experience?"

I laughed weakly and let my head fall back against his arm. "Yeah. Yeah, close enough."

We continued lying there, entwined in each other's arms, absolutely nothing wrong with the world…until my stomach let out a growl that probably could've been heard on Terra. Drax laughed a little and nudged me in the side. "You require sustenance?"

"How could you tell?" I snorted. Then I remembered who I was talking to. "No, don't answer that. Let's get breakfast, okay?"

"I believe it will be necessary to clean up first," he pointed out, and I looked down at the sticky mess now spread all over the sheets (and each other) and I had to admit yeah, he was kind of right.

"Yeah, probably. Shower, then?" And then I had an idea. "Together, so we'll save time?" I suggested, sliding one hand up the back of his leg, leaving very little room for misinterpretation of exactly what it was I was suggesting.

He saw through me right away. "I'm certain that your intentions will not save us time." He paused, and then leaned in so that his lips were inches from mine. "But that does not mean I dislike the idea," he whispered, and then pulled me in for a kiss.

As we lay there kissing I couldn't push away the tiny, angry, nagging voice in the back of my head that kept reminding me _this isn't going to last, all this happiness, you aren't going to have it for much longer._ I tried to force it out, concentrate on the fact that I was being thoroughly kissed by the man I loved. But it kept coming back. _Something is going to happen. Somehow you will lose him, either someone else will take him from you or you'll push him away again and he won't want you anymore._

_Shut up_, I told myself sternly. _He's here now and he loves me, and he knows I love him._

I wrapped my arms around him and held him close as we kissed, and I ignored the warnings coming from inside. If this wasn't going to last, then damn it, I was going to enjoy it while it did.

~o~

[Yondu]

It was getting to be an old look for me, this threatening-some-childish-dumbass-with-my-arrow thing. Not that I didn't enjoy threatening people with that arrow, believe you me, I did, but it was more fun when they either showed fear, or fought back. Standing there looking at me like I'd just got off Half World was not quite as amusing. And I really didn't appreciate when they looked _bored_. (That, by the way, was the main reason I'd never thought of threatening Thanos with that arrow. Sure, it could probably kill him, but it wouldn't be any fun. Dumb bastard would probably just sit there gloating about how indestructible he was. That would just be tedious to listen to.)

The dumbfuck I was currently threatening with said arrow was a Xandarian teenager, some sort of intern at the hospital where they'd interviewed Quill, and from the looks of things he not only had no clue who I was—dumb bastard had probably never seen a Ravager in his life—he seemed more confused than frightened by the arrow that was currently at his throat. "I'm gonna ask you this one more time, kid," I growled. "Where the _fuck_ is Peter Quill? I know you know, he was at your hospital. Even a stupid little thing like you would notice if a certified celebrity was at your place, am I right?"

He shrugged—_shrugged_, with a burning arrow at his throat, how low _was_ this kid's IQ?—and said, "You're asking the wrong person, man. I just clean the rooms."

I growled again in frustration. I considered killing the kid just to vent some of that anger, but decided against it. There was no point in getting myself arrested. Only take me that much longer to find Quill. Instead I turned to the small landing party I'd brought with me. "Okay, boys. He ain't here, that much is obvious. I say we go straight to the Nova Corps. Invade their offices. If they don't tell us where he is, we steal their shit, what do you say?"

"I bet they got that orb here," Kraglin remarked. "You know, the one Quill stole from us?"

"Probably, but we ain't here for that, remember? We're here to find Quill's worthless dumb ass and knock some sense into him. Now let's go."

As luck would have it, though, before we could go for the Nova Corps, I spotted that weird little rodent Quill had taken up with. Excellent. This would save us some time. "Follow that animal," I ordered my boys. "_Quietly_. He'll lead us to Quill."

The rodent had a bag of what I wouldn't doubt was stolen goods with him, which he seemed to have some trouble carrying. I sent Kraglin ahead. With any luck, the thing would remember him as a friend (after all, it hadn't been Kraglin who'd threatened Quill with an arrow, had it?) and accept his help. He did, but I noticed him giving Kraglin a suspicious look. _Careful, Kraglin,_ I thought, _can't let that thing think you're not alone._ Whatever Kraglin said to him made him relax a little, though, so I wasn't too worried. After all, the so-called guardians weren't the brightest creatures in the universe. I was beginning to wonder if Quill had deliberately picked them for their stupidity, so he could easily lead them. If so, I was proud of him. If not, we were going to have to have another talk, wherein I asked him what the hell he was thinking, choosing a bunch of dumbasses to ally himself with.

Sure enough, the furry rodent-thing led us right to the _Milano_. Excellent. As soon as the steps were lowered and the rodent was walking in with Kraglin, I ordered my boys to give chase. We thundered up the steps and onto the ship—I hoped we'd trampled the rodent in the process, but I saw him, a little bruised but still standing, when the dust cleared. I looked around. In the span of about fifteen seconds two of my men had taken the green woman captive and another was holding the rodent by the scruff of his neck. The weird blue-gray guy with the excessive tattoos was nowhere to be seen and, unfortunately, neither was Quill.

"Where is Peter Quill?" I demanded, staring down the green woman. What was her name? Ginevra? Ah, who the hell cared. I whistled, and my arrow shot towards her. "Go on, tell me," I ordered. She was one of the boring ones who just stared back at me when I aimed the arrow at her. I figured if Quill were here, she'd try to call me off. Shame he wasn't here, then. I kind of liked the idea of her fighting back, she seemed competent enough. "I know you know where he is, pretty. Sell out the boyfriend, or this arrow pins you to the wall."

She just looked at me with disdain. "Even if I had any knowledge of his whereabouts, I would not divulge them to you."

"Then you'll get skewered, woman," I warned her. "I don't buy for a second that you don't know. This is his ship and you're his girlfriend—"

"I'm not," she cut me off. "I don't know who you've been listening to, Yondu, but you seem sadly misinformed."

I whistled, and the arrow aimed at the rodent instead. Ah, much better; the pathetic little thing started squirming right away. "You'll tell me, then. Where's Quill?"

"Put me down, asshole," he growled, and then gave me a filthy look. "How the hell would I know? He never tells us anything. Now if you don't put me down, Groot's gonna come after all of you—"

"The weird tree-thing?" I snorted. "Don't try to fuck with me, rodent. I know he's dead." 

He gave me the most venomous look an animal had ever given me. "You call me rodent again and you'll wish _you_ were dead."

"Oh, sorry. Well, come on then, _dipshit_—that better?—you gonna tell me where Quill is, or are you gonna be on my menu tonight?"

"I told you, I don't fuckin' know! He went off somewhere last week, he took one of the backup pods, took Drax with him and left, I don't know where, he didn't tell us! You can kill me if you want, but you really don't want to for two reasons—one, like I said, Groot'll kill you, and two, killing me ain't gonna buy you anything, you still won't know where he is!" He started to thrash hard against the hand holding him up. "Now have your henchman put me the fuck down or you'll regret it!"

"I hope you don't have any regrets, because you're about to die," I said calmly, and had the arrow drift a little closer to his furry little throat. "I know you're lying to me. The tree is dead. If you're lying about that, I only have to assume you're lying about wherever Quill is. Now, one last time, where is—" I broke off, because the Ravager who was currently holding up the rodent was looking over my shoulder, clearly terrified. That annoyed me. We Ravagers didn't show fear, it was just part of our code. "What?" I demanded.

He didn't say anything, just shook his head and pointed at something behind me, about a foot over my head. The rodent looked smug. "You were saying, asshole?"

"What…?" I turned around and, oh, okay, there it was. I now understood what my crewmember was so freaked out about.

The last thought I had before I felt a sharp pain in my head and welcomed the ensuing darkness was, _okay, so the tree isn't dead after all._

**Massive love to all reviewers, followers, and favorite-ers. You make my day. *hearts***


	18. Chapter 17

**Sorry about the long wait. College has been kicking my ass. :P**

**BUT. The wait is over now. And this chapter gets a HUGE WARNING because there is ACTUAL SEX in this one. Yeah. Actual sex. Well. My **_**attempt**_** at writing actual sex. :P Anyway, here it is, and enjoy it, because this is going to be the last pure fluff chapter for a while…you'll see why at the end. ;) **

Maybe Drax didn't remember any of the promises I'd made him while he was in a coma. But I did. And I had every intention of carrying them out.

I started with the Terran cookie bars. I'd promised him the whole pan, but then, hadn't I offered a second pan, in response to Gamora's warning that the doctors wouldn't let him have cookies when he first woke up? Oh, hell. Better make it three—no, four. Drax could out-eat every one of us, so I figured it was better to be on the safe side. Finding the time to surprise him was another matter. It wasn't until our third day on Candyfornia that I managed to sneak out of bed while he was still asleep and bake until the kitchen was a total mess.

He came out and found me, knee-deep in flour, but with four pans of fresh, perfect cookie bars on a cooling rack. He raised his eyebrows at me. "Is there a reason we needed more confections when the landscape around us is fully comprised of sugar?"

I laughed at his phrasing. "No, no reason. Except…well, I know you don't remember, but when you were in a coma I promised you that if you'd just wake up, I'd make you those Terran cookie bars you liked and then Gamora was a buzzkill and said the doctors wouldn't let you have a whole pan of cookies, so I had to up the ante and promise two pans of cookies…and then when I was making them just now I remembered how much you usually eat and suddenly two just didn't seem like enough, so…" I gestured at the fresh cookie bars. "I thought I should do a few extra."

He crossed the room and stood in front of me, looking at me like I was one of the seven wonders of Terra. I was still in my pajamas and had powdered sugar and pretzel bits in my hair and chocolate on my face. But he still looked at me like I was the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen. "Sometimes," he told me quietly, "I feel that you are more than I deserve."

I let out an amazed laugh. "Seriously?" I already knew he meant it. Drax never said anything he didn't mean. "I mean—Christ, I feel like that every _day_. I mean—every damn time I look at you, all I can think is, fuck, why me? How the hell did I make you love me when—" I cut myself off. The _when I can't even get my shit together_ went unsaid.

He cupped his hands around my face and gently pulled me towards him. "You didn't have to make me do anything."

I was about to ask what he meant by that, but was cut off by a kiss. My favorite way of getting told to shut up. I forgot my question and leaned happily into the kiss.

The second promise I'd made was to let him sleep with me whenever he wanted. So that was already taken care of…but I did make a mental note to tell him that he was welcome to continue staying the night with me after we got back to the _Milano_. Hell, if he wanted to move into my bunk room, he could. Not that I was positive he'd want to, but if the way he cuddled me like his own personal teddy bear every night said anything, I was decently sure that I could count on a permanent bedmate from now on. So, second promise? Check.

Then there was the business with the walkman. I'd not only promised he could use it whenever he wanted, but I'd also promised to make copies of the mixtapes for him with music only. I told him I needed a walk alone one afternoon, and he let me go—he seemed a little less reluctant to let me out of his sight now that he knew I wasn't going anywhere—so I found the nearest electronics shop. I figured even a tourism-heavy planet like Candyfornia would have one, and I was right. I got the equipment I needed and got up early the next morning to make the edited copies of the mixtapes. When Drax got up for breakfast that day, he found me, tired but definitely satisfied with my work, sitting at the table with two freshly-recorded copies of the awesome mixes, ready to go and—most importantly—without lyrics.

To my surprise, he understood almost immediately. "Let me have a guess…one of the promises you made me during my incapacitation involved your magnetic audio recordings?"

"You are _literally_ a walking thesaurus," I laughed, shoving the tapes at him, "and yes, I said I'd make you your own copies of the awesome mixes, but without the lyrics so you could enjoy the music without having to figure out what the words mean. Here they are. Oh, and I also said you could use the walkman to listen to them whenever you wanted."

He'd been reaching for the tapes, but now he froze in place and looked at me, shocked. "You promised I could—but, Peter, you protect that device with your life. Nothing in the galaxy means more to you. You let no one use it without your permission, or outside your presence."

I shrugged and stood up. "You mean more to me," I said calmly, as if it were the most obvious, simple fact in the world. I walked around the table and stood close to him. "I want to make it up to you, haven't I made that clear? I want to make up for the way I treated you. And I want to keep the promises I made when you were in the coma—even if you don't remember them."

"Come here," he ordered, already reaching out to me.

"I'm already right here," I protested, but I didn't mind being pulled into his arms. I surrendered and let him kiss me senseless. It wasn't the first time, after all.

~o~

We spent most of the daytime exploring the beach and surrounding woods (when I wasn't doing silly things like baking cookies or copying tapes, that is). We went swimming in the Mountain Dew pond or the ocean every day, and okay, maybe I just looked at that as a great opportunity to stare at him almost-naked—did I mention Drax basically wore the inter-galactic equivalent to a jock strap when he went swimming? because that's exactly what he did—but he seemed to enjoy it, which also made me happy. I liked hiking in the chocolate woods, mainly because there was so much candy fruit that would fall off the trees, perfectly ripe and ready to eat. Lots of times, our "hikes" ended in me running around like a sugar-crazed idiot, while he patiently waited for me to be out of energy as he still wasn't supposed to exert himself too much.

Sometimes, though, we went out to the boardwalk. There was almost always a carnival going on, and I loved the ferris wheel, it was the closest thing to a bird's-eye view that I could get without my ship. Drax never complained about riding the damn thing over and over. In fact, he seemed to like it as much as I did.

One evening, we were on the ferris wheel and we'd just stopped at the very top, while more riders got on the carriages at the bottom. It had just got dark, and everything was all lit up with blinking multi-colored lights. "This is so pretty," I sighed. "God, it's just like the carnivals on Terra…not that I really got to go to very many, but my mom took me to a couple the summer before she got sick."

Drax reached out and wrapped an arm around me. "On my planet, we do not have festivals like this," he told me as he pulled me in close. "We have dances for the youth; that is typically where many courting couples first meet. And then we have parties on our name days—I think you Terrans, and the Xandarians, call it a birthday. There are holidays, of course, but there is nothing like this."

"Would you take me there sometime?" I asked, and then realized immediately how stupid that sounded. So childish. I literally sounded like a little kid.

Drax considered it, though. Finally, just as the ferris wheel was starting to move again, he said, "I will show you my home planet if you'll show me yours."

"Not sure how that'll work. Earth people aren't exactly accustomed to outside visitors…we'd kind of have to sneak in and sneak out. But I'll do what I can." I rested my head against his chest, enjoying the feel of his arms around me. "Are you happy we came here?"

"Of course I am. I told you, I'll never tire of your presence."

"I figured. If you're still here, still putting up with me after everything I did to you—"

"Quiet." He gently pressed a finger against my lips. "It is in the past. You have long been forgiven. All I care to think about now is that we are here together."

"And it only took you almost dying to do it," I muttered sarcastically. "God, I'm such an idiot. You were right there and I didn't appreciate you until it was almost too late."

"But it wasn't too late. I survived. I'm here." He squeezed me tighter, as if to remind me that he was, in fact, right there. "And as I will tell you again and again until you understand, I do not plan to go anywhere without you."

He put both arms around me and cradled me against him. I felt so safe whenever he did this, like as long as he was holding me just like that, nothing could ever hurt me again. When it came to physical contact, it was like I'd been dieting my whole life and was just now allowed to eat what I wanted without consequence. I'd always been so careful with my one-night stands. I'd been as casual as it was possible to be. Snuggling, to me, said commitment. Now here I was, cuddled up on a ferris wheel with Drax. This was intimate. This _screamed_ commitment. By all rights I should have been flipping my shit. I wasn't. I was happy.

Amazing. It's like almost losing him actually knocked some sense into me.

"Tell me more about your home planet?" I requested, and as the wheel spun on, he began to tell me about a festival they had every year to celebrate the end of summer, a costumed dance that reminded me a lot of Terran Halloween. The whole time, he never let me go. I took that as a good sign.

~o~

Being on vacation, or whatever the hell we were, was like this hermetically sealed bubble where nothing bad could happen. We were so wrapped up in each other that nothing could distract us. There was one day where it rained—even the rain tasted sweet on this planet—and we spent the entire day inside, in bed, curled up in each other's arms and kissing at regular and very frequent intervals. That was a good day, but even better was the one when he taught me to throw knives (it seemed like a good idea at the time, I swear) and instead of hitting the piece of chocolate wood he'd brought in for practice, I hit a decorative jar of glitter sanding sugar and—I swear I don't know how it happened—the thing kind of exploded all over the entire room, and both of us. We looked at each other for about five seconds, and then burst out laughing hysterically. Drax took great pleasure in informing me that I looked absolutely ridiculous.

Later on, though, he took even greater pleasure in cleaning the sugar off me. With his fingertips. And his tongue, And—okay, I've made my point.

I wouldn't let him go all the way. Not like in my dreams or fantasies, when one of us pounded the other through the mattress in about a hundred inventive ways. I wanted to—believe me, I wanted to. Just fooling around with him was amazing; I could only imagine (and I had, many times) how incredible it would be to actually have sex. But I made him hold off. For one thing, we'd hadn't been together, like really actually together, for very long, and I really didn't want him to be—or feel like—any of my short-term conquests. And for another, he was still healing. He still felt sore after too much physical activity. I didn't want to accidentally damage him by having the explosive, world-rocking sex I was pretty sure we'd have. So, yes, sex was off the menu, for now. But that didn't mean we couldn't have fun in other ways. We could—and we did. Many, many times.

I woke up one morning to the smell of Terran pancakes. Only I knew how to make Terran pancakes. I hadn't told anyone else on the _Milano_ how to make Terran pancakes. But I could smell them, so someone knew how to do it. And there was only one other someone in the house, so the logical conclusion was that Drax somehow knew how to make Terran pancakes. I dragged my eyes open and saw the best sight ever: Drax, tall muscle-y Drax, in a pink apron, holding a tray of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon.

I pushed myself up in bed. "Hey…what is this?"

He'd been excited, but now he looked confused. "It is breakfast, Peter. Surely you recognize it?"

"I know, but—you made me breakfast? And you're bringing it to me in bed?" He nodded, still confused. "No—but—I'm supposed to be taking care of you," I protested, starting to get up.

He quickly set the tray down on my bedside table and pushed me back so that I sank back into the fluffy marshmallow comforter. "You have. You baked me cookie bars. You've offered many gifts, you've allowed me into your bed, you brought me here and allowed me time to recover from my injuries—you have done so much for me, am I not allowed to show my appreciation?"

"I—I guess so." I could feel myself blushing. "I mean, yeah. It's okay, if—if you get back in bed and eat with me."

He put the tray in my lap, and slid into bed with me. "I would be delighted."

It was stupidly cute. We fed each other bites of pancake, sipped orange juice from the same cup with two straws, kissed syrup off each other's mouths. If I'd seen another couple doing all of it, it probably would've made me want to puke. But it was us, so it made me happy instead, and when breakfast was over and he'd put the tray on the floor, he pulled me in close and rolled us over so I was pinned underneath him. For a moment I waited for the panic to set in, the feeling that I was trapped. It didn't. I only felt anticipation. I knew he wanted me, and I was more than okay with that.

He kissed me, long and slow and hot, and I swear it was only then that I remembered I had one more promise to fill for him. I pulled away, and he looked disappointed…until I blurted out, "I have to ask you something. Can we get married?"

For a moment he looked over-the-moon ecstatic—and then he blinked, and looked at me with what could only be called shock. "You told me you did not wish to engage in complete sexual intercourse because you feared our relationship would be in danger if we progressed too quickly. Yet you are willing to seal yourself to me in marriage?"

"It's a long story—a long, stupid story, I—okay, you remember all the promises I made, the cookie bars and sleeping with you every night and the music tapes? Well—I promised something else, and—and I owe it to you, and—I want to make it happen because I promised and you always do everything you say you're going to do and I want to do it too and—I don't want to let you down. I made you a promise and I have to keep it, and—and if you want to, _only_ if you want to, okay? I don't want you to feel like we have to, like, run off and elope just because I said I would do it, I mean, it's all on you, if you want to marry me you can, I mean God knows I want to, I—I never want to let you out of my sight again, actually, and getting married is a nice way to accomplish that, but if you don't—"

He cut me off with a kiss. I loved when he shut me up with a kiss, and this time was no different. He gathered me up in his arms and held me tight against his chest and kissed me like he'd never stop, and I kissed back for all I was worth, grabbing at him and pulling him into me and wrapping my legs around his waist like an octopus. I never, _ever_ wanted that kiss to end, but it did eventually, and when it did, he said softly into my ear, "Yes. I accept your proposal."

"Thank God," I breathed, and pulled him in for another kiss.

I'm not sure when kissing turned into exploring each other's bodies, or when that turned into slowly removing each other's clothes. I only know that we transitioned so smoothly from simple making out into naked, horny, desperate making out that I only realized exactly where it was leading when he started to grind against me, making my eyes roll up into my head and jolting me into remembering that, hey, we weren't supposed to do this yet. "No, wait," I moaned. "Stop, we can't…we shouldn't, not now…"

He immediately stopped moving, and I felt a counterintuitive stab of disappointment. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because you're still healing and we've only been together a couple of weeks and we just got engaged for God's sake…this is too soon, we can't, you might get hurt, we might break up, we can't—"

"Peter," he cut me off, "are you telling me we should not engage in sexual relations now because you are afraid for me, or afraid that I will somehow hurt you?"

And because I couldn't lie to him, I told him, truthfully, that it was both. "I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you. Or if we broke up—I mean, if we stopped seeing each other. If we—God damn it—if we weren't together romantically. If that happened. That would, like, pretty much destroy me."

"None of that will happen if you trust me. Can you do that?"

I nodded, but inside everything was screaming _no, don't do it, this is going to go all wrong, you'll hurt him, this perfect bubble you've been living in will break, you'll see the real world and he'll see real you and he'll hate you—_

I forced those thoughts away. He'd seen me at my worst; I'd seen him lying half-dead in a hospital bed. I'd broken his heart twice, and he still came back, he still loved me. Worst-case scenario, we had bad sex. Literally. That was the absolute worst-case scenario. And sex, I'd learned through trial and error, could improve if you did it with the same person more than once.

"I trust you," I said out loud.

"Then we will proceed?"

Instead of giving him a verbal answer, I strained upwards and pulled him down so that we met in the middle for another hot, passionate kiss that left both of us breathless. He picked up my cues immediately and began to grind against me again. When our mouths finally disengaged, all he did was lean down and kiss a line up my neck, making me let out a whimpering, breathless moan. "Does that answer your question?" I asked, a delirious laugh escaping my throat.

He licked a stripe up my throat before whispering in my ear, "I believe we can consider the matter settled, yes."

"Then for the love of God, keep going."

"I assure you, I plan to."

We continued to make out, hands purposefully exploring each other's bodies, seeking out ways to draw loud, desperate moans from one another. He knew exactly how and where to touch me in order to make me squirm against him, and I'd had plenty of sex before, yeah, but I'd never had sex with a guy and I was starting to wonder if he had. Then there was the matter of who topped who—judging from our position I was pretty sure what his preference was, but I didn't know how to ask and oh my God was I even okay with being the—_bottom_—in this scenario? Did I even want that? Did it matter?

I tried to relax. This was Drax, after all. He'd proven time and time again that consent was a top priority for him. If and when this moved to the next level, he was not going to make me do anything I didn't want to do.

And then I thought about it, for just a second, and then his tongue made a rough exploration of my mouth just as his nails grazed just the right spot on my side, which caused my hips to involuntarily twitch upwards so we ground together at just the right angle to send jolts of pleasure running through me, and I knew I did want to. I really wanted to.

"Drax," I gasped, pushing him by the shoulders until he was at the right distance for me to look him in the eyes. "I'm ready. I want it." I took a deep breath to steady myself and then blurted out, all traces of eloquence gone, "I want you to fuck me. Now. Please."

He pulled me in close and kissed me deeply, and then whispered in my ear, "You only had to ask."

Oh. Oh my _God_. If I hadn't already been hard I sure as hell would've been after that; just the way he said it was enough to send waves of arousal surging through me. I wanted him bad. I wanted him _now_.

He rolled me over so that we were spooning each other (_naked_ spooning, can I just say this was the best day of my life, ever?) and gently stroked down my chest with his hand. "If you are ready for me, I will proceed. If I cause you any pain, you will tell me, and we will find another way. You understand?"

I could feel him pressing against me, could feel every bit of his skin and could smell his sweat and feel his touch and oh my fucking God it was overwhelming in the best way possible. "Yeah, I understand, just—do something, please—"

Please remember, this was totally unexplored territory for me. Forever afraid of the inherent vulnerability and intimacy of what we were about to do, I'd not only kept exclusively to women (or female-bodied) conquests since I was old enough to get laid, but I'd also insisted on being the dominant partner in every exchange. I could count the number of times I'd been on my back during a sexual encounter on one hand. From Drax's near-unshakable confidence in his everyday actions, I'd expected a fight for dominance. What I hadn't expected was how quickly I'd allow myself to lose.

I expected pain when the first finger slid inside me. Instead there was only mild discomfort, followed by a jolt of pleasure that surprised me so thoroughly I momentarily forgot the basic mechanics of breathing. "Oh," I said when I could speak again, and then he touched that spot again and I squirmed back against him, desperately hoping he'd do that a third time. "Oh _fuck_. Holy shit, oh my God, I have _so_ been missing out, that's fucking _amazing_—"

"No one has touched you in this way before?" He sounded amused—and, was it my imagination, or was he a little pleased with that idea? No surprise there, when I thought about it. Drax was a pretty possessive guy, after all. It was only to be expected that he liked the idea of being my "first" in any respect.

"No, you are definitely the first and—oh my God, how the _fuck_ are you doing that?" My back arched involuntarily as he added a second finger, which kind of just meant he was hitting that spot even harder. "_Fuck_. What are you even—how is that—oh my fuck if I'd known it was like this I'd have—a whole lot sooner—oh my God, do that again—"

He did it again. And again. And, oh my God my brain was starting to short out, _again_. "Would you like me to make you climax like this?" he murmured in my ear, still moving his fingers inside me and driving me to near-insanity. "Would it aid in our intercourse, do you think? After all, an orgasm would force your body to relax, it would make penetrating you that much easier—"

Okay, if that was dirty talk coming from him, fine—maybe it wouldn't turn anyone else on, maybe it wasn't as conventional as my blasphemy-littered stream of obscenities, but damn, it sure as hell worked on me. Knowing he wanted to make me come was pretty much the hottest fucking thing ever. Combine that with what he was doing—ahem, _back there_—and it's honestly a miracle I didn't explode right then and there.

As it was, I did have some modicum of self-control left, so I was able to stop him. "No—no," I panted, reaching around and fumbling until I could still his hand. "I—no. I want you in me. I don't want to end it like this."

"It won't end," he promised, but he did as I asked and pulled his fingers out. I immediately wanted them back in, but before I could protest I felt something different, something _bigger_, on the verge of replacing them, and once again I forgot how to get oxygen into my lungs.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for pain that didn't come because somehow, while I was too busy marveling over the fact that his fingers made me see stars, he'd found lubricant somewhere (don't ask me where; I hadn't packed any) and had liberally applied it to himself, so now he was sliding into me easily and okay, that felt nicer than I'd thought it would—

_No. Wait. Wrong._

"Stop," I blurted out.

True to form, he stopped immediately. "What is it? Have I hurt you?"

"No, it doesn't hurt, I just…" It took a second for me to work out just what was wrong, but then it hit me and I craned my head to look at him. "I want to see you. Can we—change something?"

"Of course." He slid out and helped me roll over to face him. "You would prefer to face each other?"

"God, yes. I want to look at you, you're sexy as hell…any ideas?"

"If you like, I could turn onto my back and you could get on top of me, would you like that?"

I stopped to think about that for a second. Riding him, like I had in my dream, except with him inside me giving me those mind-blowing jolts of pleasure, seeing his face and knowing I was giving him pleasure too—okay, yeah, my libido liked that idea, a lot. "Okay, yeah, that sounds good. Really good, actually."

"Then let's proceed." He rolled over and pulled me on top of him, and I scrambled to get into position. "Wait—" I stopped, and watched with increasing lust as he re-applied lubricant. Clearly, he wanted to hurt me even less than I wanted to be hurt. I liked that, I liked that a lot. "Proceed," he ordered, and I did just that.

The angle was different, but it still felt good to slide down onto him, especially since I could now see that my actions were making his eyes roll back. He let out a soft moan and reached up, hands resting on either side of my waist—but was he trying to steady me or ground himself, I couldn't tell—and began to rock, slowly, gently, still managing to find whatever magic button was inside me with every thrust.

We found a rhythm pretty quickly. It wasn't rocket science, figuring out how to time our thrusts, but it still brought a sense of accomplishment every time I made him moan. What really hit me, though, was that it seemed to turn him on when I told him how turned on I was, so once we'd found that perfect rhythm I started up a steady stream of dirty talk, trying to avoid metaphors whenever possible—the last thing I wanted was for him to stop everything to ask for a detailed explanation of the meaning of "fuck me raw" or "give it to me daddy"—and seeing how turned on he was turned me on even more in a neverending—and fucking _amazing_—cycle.

Too soon I started to feel myself getting close to the edge. "Oh God, fuck, oh God yes, I'm almost there," I warned him, head falling back as I concentrated hard on the heat that was rapidly building inside me. "Almost—so fucking close—God this feels so good, you make me feel so good, don't stop, please don't stop—almost—so—close—"

And then he thrust up into me, hard, and I felt him coming inside me, and I forgot what words even meant as I came so hard I almost blacked out. Waves of white-hot pleasure crashed through me and I closed my eyes tight, blocking out everything except that incredible feeling. Was that white noise from my own adrenaline rush that I was hearing, or was he actually making that sound that was somewhere between a lion's roar and a Spartan battle cry? Had I been even semi-conscious I might've worried that someone would call law enforcement on us, but I was too pleasure-dazed to care. I have no idea what words even came out of my mouth; I know I shouted his name but the rest was a total blur. I can only assume, given that our ensuing pillow talk involved no awkward questions, that I didn't use any metaphors.

When I came down from the high I was still on top of him, still straddling him, and he was looking at me with a dazed expression that suggested I'd done something truly spectacular, when really all I'd done was get him off. I found that I felt just a tiny bit awed by him too; no one had ever made me feel that good before. Then again, I'd never really given anyone the chance. "Whoa," was all I could say.

"Agreed," he replied, voice shaking—that sent me for a loop; I'd never heard him sound so vulnerable before. Not even when he'd just come out of the coma. Not even when we'd hooked up for the first time, our first day in Candyfornia. "May I hold you now?"

"Wh—oh. Right." I slipped off him sideways and fell back into bed. "Sure. All yours."

"Thank you." He pulled me close, and I wasted no time in entangling my limbs with his. "Was it satisfactory for you as well?"

"Oh, God." I let out a dazed, shaky laugh and shook my head. "Drax, trust me. Satisfactory isn't even the word for it. Try incredible. Breathtaking. Mind-blowing. Earth-shaking."

"I cannot imagine that our relations actually caused the earth to quake from this distance."

"It's an expression." I rested my head in the crook of his neck. "What I'm trying to say here is that you made me come so hard I almost passed out, so yes, it was beyond satisfactory, it was amazing."

"Good." He sounded proud of himself—as well he should. "Your performance was exemplary as well. I haven't experienced such pleasure since—"

Suddenly he broke off, and I thought I might know why. "I'm the first, then?" I asked carefully. "You know, since—since your wife?"

"You are." He began to stroke my back, but I'm not even sure he knew he was doing it. When I snuck a look up at him, he was no longer looking at me, but staring at the ceiling. "I suppose I should feel some kind of guilt. I do not, though. I firmly believe she would like to see me continue to live my life after her death, as I would if our situations were reversed." He looked back down at me, and his hand ceased its comforting movement across my back. "It makes me think of the Half-World invasion…Peter, if we should be attacked again—"

"Don't finish that sentence right now," I warned him, already trying to stave off the anxiety that had begun to permeate my little happy cloud. "I know where you're going with this. I don't want to think about you dying. Not now."

"That is fair." He took up the soothing back-and-forth motion on my back again, and I began to relax against him. "Then all I can say, right now, is that I love you, and I hope that we will never be separated."

"Right back at you." No, that wasn't good enough. Much as I didn't want to move, I pushed myself up enough to reach him, and turned his face so I could kiss him. "I love you too." There, that was better. I settled down into his embrace. We lay there in silence for a while, and something about the whole situation—the promises, the sex, the bittersweetness of the afterglow, the roller-coaster of events that had led up to this single, perfect moment—made me remember a song from a movie that I'd watched far too many times as a child:

_There's such a sad love deep in your eyes_

_A kind of pale jewel, open and closed, within your eyes_

_I'll place the sky within your eyes_

_There's such a fooled heart_

_Beatin' so fast in search of new dreams_

_A love that will last within your heart_

_I'll place the moon within your heart_

_As the pain sweeps through_

_Makes no sense for you_

_Every thrill is gone_

_Wasn't too much fun at all_

_But I'll be there for you_

_As the world falls down_

_Falling, falling down, falling in love_

_I'll paint you mornings of gold_

_I'll spin you Valentine evenings._

_Though we're strangers 'til now_

_We're choosing the path between the stars_

_I'll leave my love between the stars_

_As the pain sweeps through_

_Makes no sense for you_

_Every thrill is gone_

_Wasn't too much fun at all_

_But I'll be there for you_

_As the world falls down_

_Falling, falling down, falling in love_

I hadn't realized I was singing it out loud until I felt his arm tighten around my waist. "Oh—I'm sorry," I stammered, "it's—it's this song, from this Terran movie I used to watch when I was a kid. A love song. Something about this moment just kind of reminded me of it."

"May I ask why? It's so sad," he said plaintively, and I felt my heart twist.

"No, it's not, when you think about it—" Briefly, I explained the plot of _Labyrinth_ to him. "See, Sarah doesn't really know it, but she's been waiting for Jareth her whole life. She wants him, but in the end, she still says no to him because she knows that even if she wants to stay there in the labyrinth with him, taking her baby brother home is still more important. And he knows she's going to say no, but that doesn't stop him from trying his hardest to win her over."

"So he knows she will not consent, but he woos her anyway? That is not very respectful of him," Drax pointed out.

Okay, this was going nowhere. "I'm not explaining it very well. I guess you'd have to see the movie, but they kind of compete against each other the whole time. Sort of like we did when we first met. Remember, you were so dead-set on finding and stopping Ronan and all I cared about was getting rid of that damn orb…remember how much we argued? And then at the end you see she wants him—she dances with him, in this fantasy world he creates for her—and it would be easy for her to give in to him, because she likes him, but she—she still says no. She walks away. Just like how I walked away from you." I cringed at the memory.

Drax, however, seemed to finally understand. "I see," he said softly. "So this ballad that you just performed for me—this is his confession of love to her?"

"It's more than that, it's his proposal to her. At this point in the movie, remember, she doesn't know about her quest anymore. She knows she has to do something, but she doesn't know what. So he takes his opportunity and basically asks her to stay with him forever. She's even in a white gown, which is what Terran women typically wear when they get married. That could've been their wedding, if she says yes. But she doesn't."

"Oh. I think I understand now. Is it some sort of Terran courting ritual, to serenade your beloved on the day you propose marriage?"

Close enough. "Some do. I never got to see it except in that movie, though." I propped myself up on one arm to look at him. "I guess it is a sad song, because she says no to him in the end, but—I wasn't thinking that just now. I was just thinking that…we've been here for each other, haven't we? When you were in the hospital and when I got stabbed and when Half-World invaded and when I had that total breakdown after we invaded Ekos—we were there for each other through all of that. And—and I hurt you, twice, but you still gave me a second chance, and then a third. That's what made me think of that song. That's all. I'm sorry if I made you sad again. I just…" I swallowed hard, and laid my head back down on his chest. Suddenly I wanted to be as close to him as possible. "I love you. That's all. I just really, really love you and I wanted to tell you."

"I pray that you never stop." His words were light enough, but I could hear that tremor in his voice, the sound that reminded me that, big and tough as he may appear, he was as vulnerable in this relationship as I was. It was heartbreaking, that tremor—and oddly comforting. It brought us to an equal level. We were vulnerable together, each of us afraid of losing the other.

"I'm your fiance now," I reminded him. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

"I hope to never get rid of you at all."

"That works for me." I wrapped both arms around his waist and held on tightly. "I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I never want to let you out of my sight again."

"I would not object to never allowing you to stray from my eye-line again." He reached up and carded his fingers through my hair. "Sleep now. We will discuss this in more detail when we awake."

"Good idea." I closed my eyes. "I love you," I repeated. I wondered if I'd ever be able to say it enough.

The last thing I heard before dropping off to sleep was a soft "I love you, Peter Quill," as a pair of warm arms closed tightly around me.

~o~

I'd thought the worst of the trouble was behind us. But it's my life, and my life just can't be that easy.

We slept through most of the day. Not surprising, when you consider he was still technically recovering from his injuries (we'd only been on Candyfornia a week and a half, and they'd told me it would be at least two weeks before he was ready for action again) and we'd had a pretty intense morning. It was late afternoon when I woke up, and for a minute I thought I'd left a window open and it had started to rain again because there was something cold on my face. Then I realized that was metal, which meant…

_Someone has a gun to my head._

My eyes shot open, but before I could take any action, I saw who was threatening me. And I immediately felt relief flood through me. After all, it was just a gun. If my "attacker" really had wanted to threaten me, he had much better weapons at his disposal. More likely he just wanted to jolt me awake, which he had succesfully done.

"Now that I've got your attention," a familiar voice drawled, "maybe you could explain to me why you're shacking up with a guy who calls himself the Destroyer, and while you're at it, you could throw in a little explanation of why you decided to broadcast your weakness to the entire Nova empire on live television. God, boy. If you were any more stupid I'd think you'd been raised by animals."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Yondu had found me.

**So, for anyone who hasn't seen the movie (GO WATCH IT RIGHT NOW IF YOU HAVEN'T IT'S AMAZING), the song Peter sings to Drax is from Jim Henson's **_**Labyrinth**_** and yes, it's technically a love song, but make no mistake, that movie is **_**not**_** a love story. I'm pretty sure there are some **_**Labyrinth**_** die-hards out there who read Peter's description of the movie and went "what the…did you even SEE **_**Labyrinth**_**?" and yes, yes I did. But when I was a kid and saw that for the first time I thought it was a love story, because all I remembered was the dancing and the bit at the end where Jareth asks Sarah to stay and she says no. Imagine my surprise when I saw the movie years later and thought "whoa, this is creepy…" lol. Anyway, yes, I'm aware **_**Labyrinth**_** is not actually a love story, but I figured, since I remembered it as a love story when I was a kid, maybe Peter would see it that way too? Remember it's been at least 26 years since he's seen the movie, so it's not entirely impossible he'd mis-remember or forget some of it.**

**Anyway! Sorry about the cliffhanger. And the long wait. I'll get the next one out faster, I promise. And next time we'll see what the Guardians were up to while Peter and Drax were away, find out how Yondu got away from them, and maybe see a bit more Grocket cuteness? I haven't decided yet.**

**Thanks again for reviews, follows, and favorites, you all make my day. *huggles* :)**


	19. Chapter 18

**I'm sorry this took so long…college. Just. College. *endless facepalms* Also the bulk of my writing time used to be weekends, which are now occupied by eight-hour shifts at McDonald's. Not fun, y'all. Not fun.**

**Also, I had a hard time writing Yondu—he's one of those characters where I'm just like, what the hell could your motive have possibly been? My headcanon for Yondu is that he really did care about Peter (he had to, or he would've either taken him to J'son or just dumped him when/if the deal fell through), but had no clue how to be a parent/guardian to a kid. From what I saw of him in the movie, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have actually killed Peter, but he wasn't exactly the most touchy-feely guy so he wasn't above either roughing Peter up or allowing him to be roughed up to "teach him a lesson," if that makes sense.**

**Anyway. Enough of my rambling. Here's the chapter (finally!) and I hope you enjoy it :)**

~five days earlier~

[Rocket]

_I hate Ravagers_.

The jackass holding me by the neck smelled like shit. I mean he really smelled like he'd shit his pants. I wondered when he'd last had a bath, and then decided against trying to figure it out; that was just depressing. And disgusting.

On top of smelling like ass, the guy wasn't too bright.

_Seriously, Quill. How did you ever put up with these guys?_

Yondu had his arrow at my throat, which was really kind of distracting, and I wasn't really scared, because I knew Groot was going to come along any minute and kick some Ravager ass, but this was so inconvenient and I was just annoyed. Yondu demanded, again, that I tell him where Peter was, and I lost what was left of my patience. "I told you, I don't fuckin' know! He went off somewhere a couple of days ago, he took one of the backup pods, took Drax with him and left, I don't know where, he didn't tell us! You can kill me if you want, but you really don't want to for two reasons—one, like I said, Groot'll kill you, and two, killing me ain't gonna buy you anything, you still won't know where he is! Now have your henchman put me the fuck down or you'll regret it!"

"I hope you don't have any regrets, because you're about to die," he replied coolly, and that fucking arrow inched a little closer. "I know you're lying to me. The tree is dead. If you're lying about that, I only have to assume you're lying about wherever Quill is." While he gloated, Groot snuck up behind him. _Ah, yeah. About time. Now crack his skull, go on._ "Now, one last time, where is—" He stopped mid-sentence. I craned around and noticed that the Ravager holding me up had seen Groot. Excellent. Now Yondu would see Groot and realize, hey, he's not dead after all. "What?" Yondu snapped, glaring at his friend.

The friend, who was too freaked-out to say anything, just shook his head and pointed at Groot. I almost laughed. "You were saying, asshole?" I taunted Yondu.

"What—?" Clearly exasperated, Yondu turned around. Groot leered down at him, and I couldn't help but let out a laugh as Groot thunked him on the head before he could even get out another word. _I told you not to fuck with me, didn't I?_

The Ravager holding me peed himself—I could smell it, _ew_—and dropped me. Not that I minded being free again, but I landed hard on my back and got the wind knocked out of me. I didn't hit my head, thankfully, but I did land on my elbow and _ouch_ that hurt. Not to mention the bruises I was pretty sure I'd have on my back now. Oh well. Lucky for me, I wasn't human. No one would be able to see my injuries.

Total chaos erupted while Groot easily got the best of the Ravagers nearest him. The rest of them had the sense to run for it. Gamora beat the crap out of the one who'd taken her captive, while Groot knocked a few more senseless. I just stood there and laughed my ass off, partly because I was too sore to run and get my guns, partly because it was genuinely amusing. Really, the fuckers should have known better. We're the Guardians of the fuckin' Galaxy. You don't try to mess with us. Look at what happened to Ronan.

The fight was short and sweet. It was maybe five minutes before all the Ravagers were either unconscious or running for their lives. It was another five to get all the unconscious bodies off the ship and take off. "So," I said as Gamora set the ship on autopilot, "that was interesting."

She looked surprisingly shaken. I was so used to seeing the ice-cold mask that seeing any emotion from her was still weird. "He will find Peter eventually. What then?"

"Drax'll protect him, obviously." I turned around to see Groot behind me. "Nice work, buddy."

"I am Groot?"

"I'm fine. Didn't get a scratch, see?" I lied, and turned in a circle so Groot could see I was uninjured. "Besides, we got the scum off our ship and that's all that matters."

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know you care if I get hurt. So what? In the grand scheme of things, I _didn't_ get hurt, and we got rid of the fuckers, so stop looking at me like I just stole your favorite toy."

"I _am _Groot," he said, giving me a look that screamed _you know exactly what I mean_, and I was desperately thankful that Gamora couldn't translate him, because he'd just essentially called me his favorite toy.

"I'm flattered," I snapped, trying to cover up the embarrassment. "Now where are we going from here?"

"Candyfornia," Gamora informed me. She finished punching in the coordinates and got out of the pilot's chair. "We're going to get Peter and Drax before the Ravagers do. We should be there in five days or so."

Groot looked like someone had just handed him a giant present. "I am Groot!" he said happily, and before I could stop him, he scooped me up and twirled me around like a child. "I am _Groot_!"

I normally wouldn't have minded too much, but the way he grabbed me hit right on the bruises and that hurt way too much to just ignore it. "Put me down! I've been manhandled enough today, thanks!" I protested, squirming furiously until he actually put me down.

Gamora seemed to find this amusing. "I'm going to go to my bunk. You two behave yourselves." Before I could protest, she'd walked off, leaving me alone with the hyper-excited five-year-old child that was Groot, who was still over the moon about getting to go back to Candyfornia.

"I am Groot?" he asked eagerly, branches vibrating with excitement.

"No, we're not going to swim in that soda-pop lake thingy, we're not going for a vacation, idiot. We're going to get Quill's stupid ass out of trouble." I folded my arms and gave him the _you're stupid_ look.

He didn't seem to mind. "I am Groot," he said happily, and—what the hell, we just went over this!—picked me up again.

_Ow_. Huge wooden fingers right on the bruises. Not fun. "Put. Me. Down," I said through gritted teeth. Normally I didn't mind when Groot picked me up. Hell, normally I'd climb right up and sit on his shoulder. But not right now, because did I mention huge painful bruises all up and down my back?

Instead of putting me down, he shifted his grip so that he wasn't squeezing me with both hands. Now I was lying in the crook of his arm like a baby. Oh, that felt better. Slightly embarrassing—I wasn't a human kid, dammit—but definitely more comfortable. "I am Groot?"

"Nah, you didn't hurt me. That idiot dropped me flat on my back when you showed up. Peed himself, too." I grinned a little at the memory. "Way to make an entrance, by the way. Nice timing."

I thought he'd smile at the compliment. Instead he scowled. "I am Groot." _He was going to hurt you._

"Yeah, well, thanks to you, he didn't."

He held me closer to his chest, wrapping his other arm around me protectively. "I am _Groot._"

"I know, buddy. I know. It's okay. I'm fine, see? Just a little bruised, but that'll go away in a couple of days."

I thought maybe he'd put me down then, but he didn't. Instead he carried me over, flopped down on the couch, and settled me in his lap. I waited for the inevitable mother-henning to commence (Groot had an annoying tendency to rightfully not believe me when I said I wasn't injured), but it didn't come. Instead he twined both arms around me again, and there was nothing platonic about the way he looked at me when he said softly, "We are Groot."

Fuck. No translation needed for that. I put my head against his chest. "You keep saying that like if you say it often enough I'm going to forget that I don't deserve you."

"We are Groot," he repeated insistently. When I didn't respond, he poked me in the stomach with a stray twig, deliberately tickling me. While I squirmed he added, "I _am_ Groot." _You've done everything for me. And I know you feel the same way._

"Pfft. Really?" I tried to give him the _you're stupid_ look again. Didn't work quite as well this time. "When have I ever given any indication I love you, you big damn log? Huh?"

"I am Groot," he said matter-of-factly, and if I were human I'm sure my face would've been bright-red, because he'd very accurately pointed out that I was incapable of sleeping without him and, on top of that, I was willing to go to epic extremes to make him happy.

"That's not true."

He reached up with one tendril and stroked my face. I winced and pushed his hand away, remembering how he'd done it on the _Dark Aster_, right before he—no, I wasn't going to think about that now, I wasn't!—and looked away, scowling at nothing. As usual, he saw right through me. "I am Groot," he said gently. When I didn't answer, he cupped my cheek in his palm and turned my head around, making me look him in the face. "_We are Groot._"

I sighed. There was no point in denying it anymore. Not when I let him cuddle me at regular and increasingly frequent intervals. Not when he was the only one allowed to touch me, not when he was the only one who could comfort me after a nightmare, not when he was the only one allowed to sit near me when I was building new guns or fixing the old ones. Not when he was the best friend I'd ever had. Not when he was the first person to ever care about me. Not when we'd saved each other.

No, there definitely wasn't anything to be gained by denying it anymore—because he had me wrapped around his little wooden fingers and he knew it.

So instead of denying it again, I put my hand over his. The size difference, to anyone else, might have been comical. To us, it was as natural as anything. "Don't know the point in saying it...you already know, you just said so…but for what it's worth, I love you too."

His face lit up. Literally and figuratively—he was as happy as I'd ever seen him, and he celebrated by releasing handfuls of light spores into the room. It made me laugh, just a little, because it was so _Groot_. "I am Groot. We are Groot," he said happily. "We are Groot!"

I laughed again and reached up, lightly touching my paw against his face. "I love you too, you big stump. Now, enough with this sappy gooey stuff. Let's go make something that goes 'boom,' okay? If we catch up to Quill same time as Yondu does, we're gonna need a lot of firepower to deter him."

Groot nodded solemnly, but I could see the sparkle in his eyes. He loved watching me make things. He loved it even more when I let him "help," which was hilarious because he was about as useless with weaponry as I was with hand-to-hand combat. "I am Groot?"

"Yeah, you can help. First just get me there, okay? That guy dropped me right on the implants," I complained. "You know, it'd be a lot easier to deal with idiots if they'd stop multiplying."

"I am Groot."

"I know, right? No wonder Quill acts like such a dumbass. Look at the morons who raised him."

~o~

[Peter]

For about five and a half seconds I was honestly kind of scared. After all, there was a gun. In my face. Wielded by a guy who'd proven he had no issue with killing. But…wait. If he wanted to kill me, why wouldn't he have just nailed me in my sleep with his arrow? Oh. Right. He didn't want to kill me. He wanted to get my attention. Well. He'd done that, all right.

Once I figured out that I was not actually about to die, the fear ebbed away, and was quickly replaced with anger. Cold, unforgiving, unrelenting anger. I was _furious_. How could he do this to me? Come along, uninvited, unwanted, and interrupt the best week of my life, just so he could give me a hard time? Really? What business was it of his who I slept with or what I said on TV? Who died and made him my parole officer? Besides, since when did he even care? It's not like I'd been on a short leash while I was a Ravager. In fact, his general thing, especially once I'd got old enough to have my own ship, had been "pay your own way, give me a cut of your earnings, and deal with your own shit." I could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually acted like a father…but now, for some unfathomable reason, he was trying to.

Very slowly, I sat up. Behind me, I could feel Drax starting to move as well. I put a hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to stay put for the moment, and looked up at Yondu, who still had the gun out and was now looking at me smugly, like he'd just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. Too late, I remembered that I was totally naked. Well, I'd have to get up and confront him at some point anyway. Might as well do it buck-ass nude. Thank God he only had Kraglin with him. Not that I really cared how many people saw my junk, but this really was only between me and them. No one else needed to be here.

"Get out."

Wait, was that really my voice? It didn't sound anything like me. Yondu looked like someone had just told him Kraglin was actually Thanos. Totally dumbstruck. I'd never seen Yondu speechless before, but now I couldn't really blame him. I rarely got angry, especially with him, and now I'd just essentially growled at him.

He recovered quickly enough. "What's that, boy?" he demanded. "What'd you say?"

I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak evenly. "I said, get out." I slid my hand along under the covers, trying to hide that I was reaching down by my bedside table, where I'd hidden my blaster between the bed and the nightstand. Just in case. Now I wish I'd gone the extra mile of paranoid and stuck it under my pillow. "Get out," I repeated loudly, when Yondu still didn't seem to get the message.

"What do you mean, get out?" he snapped.

"Oh, my God, is your translator broken? _Get. The. Fuck. Out._" Where was—ah, there it was. Blaster. Right there. Set to kill, but I could always change the setting before I fired, if it came to that. After all, this wasn't a life-or-death scenario. And I really didn't want to kill Yondu. Just get him out of my room. "In case you still don't understand what I'm trying to say, _leave_. Exit the room. Walk out. Get the point now?"

"I ain't going anywhere until we have a talk, boy."

Drax's arm was still around my waist. I could feel how tense he was and knew he was totally awake now. Which meant I probably had another thirty-second window before he got up and started…well…_destroying_. "You're going outside, sitting down on the couch, and waiting for me to get dressed. You're going to stay there until I come out. You're going to put the gun away, and if you even think about taking out your arrow, shit is going to go down and you can't say I didn't warn you." I was so angry I had to work to keep myself from shouting. "And you're going to tell me why in the hell you thought it was okay to follow me here, wake me up, _threaten me with a fucking gun_, and act like you have any right whatsoever to pass judgment on my sex life or my involvement with the media."

Yondu narrowed his eyes. "You trying to boss me around now, kid? I don't recall that working out too well for you, now that I think about it."

"Yeah, well, you forget that when it 'didn't work out too well' for me, I was thirteen years old and I had no clue what you were capable of. You hit me when I was down—"

"—just because I had to. You needed to learn, it's what any real opponent would have done—"

"_You weren't my opponent!_" I think I surprised him by yelling, because he sort of jumped back, but I ignored it and plowed on, "You weren't my opponent, you were supposed to protect me, you were supposed to help me, instead you beat the shit out of an injured thirteen-year-old kid just because you could! You did it to make an example of me, I know that for a fact, so you can stop with all the for-your-own-good crap. You wanted everyone to know that you weren't going to favor me. Well, guess what, mission accomplished, because guess what happened after that? They _all_ started beating on me! And you never did a God damned thing to stop them, because you were afraid it'd make them think that, God forbid, you actually gave a shit about me. So no, I really don't think it's going to end the same way when I stand up to you this time, because guess what I have now that I didn't have back then? I have someone on my side. You see this guy behind me here? You know his name, you know his reputation, you know he's sleeping with me. What, exactly, do you think he's going to do to you now that he knows you hurt me? I'm pretty sure it's not going to start out with a handshake and a _nice to meet you._ Now you have exactly ten seconds to get out of my room before I let him rip off your limbs, and I seriously hope you don't think I'm exaggerating, because that is _exactly_ what he will do, so _get the fuck out right fucking now_."

For a moment there was dead silence. And then Yondu, who'd spent the last half of my speech gaping at me like a fish, snapped his mouth shut, brusquely gestured for Kraglin to follow him, left the room and shut the door behind him.

The moment he left my adrenaline receded, leaving me feeling shaky and nauseous. Oh my God. I wasn't sure what was more nerve-wracking: the fact that I'd just yelled at Yondu, or the prospect of explaining myself to Drax, who was now looking at me with a mixture of concern and—oh, I was a dead man walking—faint traces of anger.

"You lied to me," he said quietly. "You told me he never physically harmed you."

_And there it is._ "I said he never raped me," I reminded him, my voice quavering. "I said he didn't emotionally abuse me—"

"Which, I now discover, is also a lie. How often did he beat you?"

"Just the once." I laughed a little bitterly. "Trust me, he never had to after that."

"But he let the others harm you."

"Yes."

"How often?"

"Well, it's not like they did it in front of him. But I learned pretty early on that I never had the option of going to him if someone hurt me. Then when I was thirteen I fucked up a heist and he was pretty mad—I lost money because I got myself hurt and he—well, you heard what he did. I never forgot that. And he did it in front of the whole crew. Kind of made an example of me, like I said. I never screwed him over again, I can tell you that…well, until the orb thing happened. But that was different."

"How frequently did the crew assault you?" he asked, in the kind of tone that meant _you'd better answer this time._ But his touch was as gentle as a breeze. He was holding me like he thought I'd break if he squeezed too tightly.

"Less frequently as I got older and learned to fight back. By the time I left with the _Milano_, they all knew not to mess with me. When Kraglin replaced Yondu's first mate, he tried to attack me just so the rest of the crew would know they shouldn't fuck with him—but instead I knocked him out cold." I couldn't help but smile at the memory. "Yondu was seriously impressed, I remember that…when we stopped at Knowhere that night, he bought me a drink. I was…twenty-one, I think, at the time, and it was the first time I felt like he thought of me as—well, as a son instead of just an investment, you know?"

Drax's grip on me tightened, just the tiniest bit. "One pint of alcohol does not atone for years of allowing you to be physically assaulted."

"Yeah, I know, but…like I told you, he did it so I'd be stronger. Mostly. The time when I was thirteen, that was so the rest of the crew would get the message that he didn't favor me—"

"I do not care what his motive was. He assaulted you and he allowed others to do the same when he could have stopped them." He looked towards the door, scowling. "I will slay him where he stands for this."

"No!" I grabbed his face and made him look at me. "You will _not_. Drax—please, if you love me, if you care about me at all, you will let me handle this. Please. _Please_, I'm begging you, when we go out there, let me do the talking."

His expression immediately softened. "I will respect your wishes. Yet you should be aware that if he so much as touches you in my presence, I will torture him as he tortured you."

"He didn't torture me, but—okay, point taken. Just—please, don't blow up on him, okay? Not unless he actually threatens me."

"Define 'threaten.'"

I took a second to think it over. "Okay, the arrow. If he goes for the arrow. If he whistles and it starts to come at me—go ahead. Go wild. Rip him to shreds if you want to. Until then, _play it cool_, you understand?"

"Despite your excessive use of colloquialisms, yes, I believe I do."

"Good. Then let's get dressed and get out there."

He pulled on a pair of pants and waited for me to put my clothes on. When I was dressed, he asked in a low voice, "Before we make our entrance—I must ask, is there anything else that he did to you? Or allowed to be done to you? I wish to know now because if during our interaction with Yondu you reveal that he committed some other atrocity towards you, the suddenness of the reveal may cause me to lose emotional control, and prevent me from honoring my promise to not harm him unless he harms you first."

I was thankful for his honesty, but that didn't stop me from feeling incredibly nervous as I replied, "Well. Um. You remember how you asked me if he ever—uh—hurt me in a sexual sense?"

His face darkened. "Tell me he dared to rape you and our agreement is off, I will go and remove his head straightaway."

"No, no," I said quickly. "He never did—but, um. His first mate before Kraglin—he tried to. Yondu didn't stop him. He was right there in the room, but he waited until I'd fought him off to discipline the guy. And—when I asked why he didn't help me, he—he said, 'What was the point? You took care of it on your own. Besides, ain't no one going to be around to help you if someone tries to do that to you when you're out on a heist.'"

Drax seemed momentarily overwhelmed with rage. When he could speak again—which took a good minute or two—he sputtered out, "That is—that is _despicable_. He should have protected you."

"Maybe he should have, but—"

"No!" He bounded across the room, gripped me by the shoulders, and forced me to look at him. "Peter, there is no room for _maybe_ in this situation. You were under his protection and he failed to defend you. He deserves to be tortured—but for your sake I will keep my hands off of him. But understand that if not for my promise to you, he would lie in pieces at my feet before the day ends."

"Understood." I took a deep breath. God, he was scaring me. No one had ever defended me like that before and, honestly, I'm not sure I liked the idea at all.

My fear must have shown in my eyes, because his vise grip loosened and his voice was much gentler when he asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." I forced myself to take another deep breath. "I just—wow. You don't mess around."

"No, I do not. I mean it when I say that I believe he deserves to die for what he allowed his men to do to you." He narrowed his eyes. "Was the first mate the only one to attempt to assault you in such a way?"

Oh fuck. "No," I admitted. No point in lying now.

"And did any of them succeed?"

I'd had enough. "Drax, can we _please_ talk about this later? Yondu's right out there, he's waiting, and I'd really prefer he not break down the door and I'd _really_ like for us to not end up in a severe bloody fight today, okay? Can we just—"

"Peter. Answer me."

"No."

"Peter. _Now._" He wasn't holding onto me tightly enough to hurt, but he was definitely not going to let me get away. And he certainly wasn't going to believe me if I lied.

So I bit the bullet and told him what he already knew: "One of them did."

I was expecting another speech about all the ways he was going to torment Yondu if I ever let him. Instead he pulled me in close and made me put my head on his shoulder. Surprised at his sudden tenderness, I closed my eyes and let him hold me. "It's okay," I muttered against his skin. "It was a long time ago. And it wasn't even that bad, all he did was make me suck him off—"

"Quiet." His voice was gentle, but left no room for argument. I shut up and let him stroke my back as he said softly, "I will never allow anyone to hurt you so again. I don't care how minor you believe his offense was—if he forced you to engage him sexually without your consent, should I ever meet this man in open combat, his head will roll at my feet."

I couldn't help but smile. "He died in a bar fight. But thanks anyway."

Drax held me off at arm's length, looking me over as if I'd been hurt that morning and not years ago. "Do you still wish to speak to Yondu?"

"Yeah. Let's go out there."

"You are certain?"

I took his hand and led him to the door. "Drax, believe me. I just want this over with."

We went out and he kept his promise to not beat the crap out of Yondu. I mean, he did. Really.

For about fifteen minutes.

Yondu told me that he'd seen me on Xandarian news, beaten and bloody, and he didn't like that I was "broadcasting my weakness" to the entire galaxy. I calmly informed him that it was the best way to get people involved in the cause—my appearance would garner more sympathy, so people would be more likely to be on guard against Half-World—and reminded him again that he had no business telling me what I should and shouldn't say in an interview. He told me I needed to have more respect and reminded me of how he'd kept the boys from "eating" me when I was a kid.

And, as the gods of the universe clearly love to laugh at me, that was when Drax decided to jump in. "You do not mean they wished to consume him for nourishment." He'd avoided looking directly at Yondu for the entire conversation, choosing instead to focus on me, but now he openly glared at Yondu. I cringed. Whatever was coming couldn't be good.

Yondu, however, only seemed amused. "Oh, yeah? Peter, you're a big boy now. You wanna tell your boyfriend here what I mean by 'eating' you? See if he's interested in taking a turn?"

Drax's eyes seemed to darken, and I felt my stomach clench. This was going to end badly. "Oh, I believe I already comprehend, thank you…and perhaps you would be interested in knowing that your pathetic endeavors to prevent your men from metaphorically 'eating' Peter failed."

No. Oh, God, _no_. "Drax," I muttered, reaching for his arm, "please, let's not do this now."

"He needs to know," Drax said firmly, still glaring fiercely at Yondu. "He needs to know that his men assaulted you, that they pressured you into sexual favors, that they—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Yondu cut him off, waving an impatient hand. "They fucked around with him a little, so what? Toughened him up, didn't it?"

"It was your job to protect him and you failed!"

Yondu just laughed. "My _job_? My job was to deliver him to his royal jackass of a daddy. And when that deal fell through—not that I really gave a fuck, mind you, I got one million units just to pick him up from Terra—my job was to keep the kid from dying so I could use his cute little face to throw off the people I traded with. That was my job. Anything else I did was above and beyond. And you know that, don't you, Quill?" He looked straight at me. I was still reeling from _deliver him to his daddy_, but Yondu didn't seem to notice. "You never thought I wanted to adopt you for kicks, did you? Didn't think it was just because I wanted a snotty little Terran brat lying around my ship, did you? You always knew you were an asset and you always knew what would happen to you if you weren't. So you grew up. You lived up to your potential. You did it, kid. I gotta say, I can't help but be just a little proud of you for that. Well, I was. Then I found out you went soft for those galaxy-saving freaks. This one in particular, it seems. Tell you what, Quill, I never thought you'd be into men. Seemed you always wanted the ladies, but hey. What do I know? All's I ever did was raise you, right? Looks like I skipped a few crucial lessons."

My head was about to explode. So Yondu hadn't just picked me up for some random scientist who wanted a Terran to experiment on, and then kept me out of an attack of conscience, as he'd always told me. His job had been to deliver me to my father. And then—what had happened? How had that deal "fallen through?" Had my father decided he didn't want me? And what had made Yondu keep me? I barely heard his last few insults about the Guardians and his judgment of me sleeping with Drax—that didn't matter now, not when I was reeling from the sudden and ill-timed revelation that _my father didn't want me._

But Drax? Drax was about to explode. I could feel his muscles tensing under my hand. _No, please, don't do it, don't kill him, Drax, not now—_

"I could write you several books filled with lessons you failed to teach him," Drax growled.

Yondu, predictably, ignored him. "You know, Quill, I always hoped I was wrong about you—I was afraid someone would come along and knock you into submission, but I hoped you'd always be an outlaw. Guess I was right to worry. Looks like you've been neutered, boy."

_Oh, fuck. Detonation in three, two—_

To his credit, Drax didn't immediately go for a killing blow. I'm pretty sure he wanted to, because what I'd told him about growing up in the Ravagers' ship was probably enough to put him over the edge already, and with Yondu acting like a cocky bastard, and the fact that Drax could probably tell I was on the verge of falling apart again, it was actually a miracle that he _didn't_ go straight for the jugular. Instead he hurled Yondu through the wall, with a roar that could have been heard back on Terra.

Yondu's pretty tough, when it comes down to it. I'm pretty sure if Drax had thrown me through the wall I would've been either dead or broken into about a thousand pieces. But Yondu popped back up and—_oh fucking God no_—went for the arrow. I heard the whistle and saw it flying towards Drax—for a second I thought _this is it, this is how I lose him_—and then suddenly I was in front of him and that arrow should have gone straight through Drax's heart, but instead—

Instead it went straight through me.

I'd been threatened with that arrow so many times, but he'd never actually hurt me with it. I'd watched in horror as Yondu used it on our enemies, but had never dreamed that he might use it on me. I had always wondered, with a sort of sick fascination, what it would feel like to touch it, to be pierced by it, but I never had actually wanted to find out.

Well, now I found out.

It hurt like _hell_.

The arrow hit my left arm, just above the crook of my elbow, and for a moment I was afraid it had gone straight through me and found its intended target, but I heard a sharp exclamation come from Yondu and felt the arrow retreat from the wound, back through my arm—_holy fuck ow_—and I knew Drax was safe. The pain started at the wound, a deep burn that was like nothing I'd ever felt before, and radiated through my entire arm, up into my shoulder, down straight into my heart. It hurt too much to even scream.

_No. No, make it stop, fuck, just make it stop_—

I could hear Drax's shouts of fury, his anger, _look at what you have done, was this your intention, did you aim to kill on purpose, knowing he would try to stop you_? I felt light-headed, the pain sapping every bit of rational thought from my mind. Drax's arms were around me and he was trying to keep me upright even as he yelled at Yondu, and I heard Yondu's voice, protesting he hadn't meant to hit me, then Kraglin—_Stay with me, Peter, look up, need you to breathe, I know it hurts, you're okay, you're not dying, need you to stay conscious, just breathe, stay with me—_but I couldn't, I was too dazed, I couldn't think, I couldn't _breathe_.

I was still hyperventilating, still trying to force a scream of pain from my constricting throat, still trying to blink tears from my eyes, still trying to comprehend what had just happened to me, when I heard three more voices join the clamor, followed by a blast and a crash that seemed to shake the foundation of my very existence.

Even in my pain-shaken state, I knew there was only one being in the galaxy capable of making a weapon that could do that.

Rocket was here.

And if he was here, so were Groot and Gamora.

My last thought before I passed out was that if Yondu had the brains that God gave a clamshell, he was going to get the fuck out _right now_.

**I wasn't planning on whumping Peter again…it just happened. (IamtotallyshamelessIswear)**

**Buckets of love to all who reviewed, followed, or favorited. I love you all. I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever, but just know that I appreciate all the love that has been shown to this story and just know that your support keeps me going when I feel like giving up on this fic. *hearts* *hugs***


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